Dio slid into the back of the car, crossed one leg over the other, and sneered. It wasn't a sneer with any particular meaning; it was merely the way his face ended up when at rest. His expression still unsettled the driver. The driver was a slightly older man with a well-trimmed beard and graying hair; he was not an experienced chauffeur but he certainly looked the part. He had merely had the fortune, or the misfortune, of being outside of the car dealership at the same time that Dio had exited it. After a job interview that consisted merely of "can you drive?" he had been gently persuaded into his new vocation with an obscene amount of yen and a pointed look from beneath the black umbrella.

He wasn't quite sure what was unsettling about the tall, blonde Brit in the back, but he was unsettled nonetheless. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared out towards the road. He had been worried about being forced into transporting drugs or worse but all he had seen had been a few suitcases full of money. And that could be completely legal, he insisted to himself. There's no laws against carrying suitcases full of money around. And when the strange man had taken a suitcase full of cash to a decrepit looking building and handed it over to a rather angry looking young man, it was just polite to look the other way and pay no attention to the yelling.

So, driving this strange man around was a worrisome but ultimately harmless and lucrative couple of hours. The man only hoped that this was a one day job and that the mysterious individual would soon fly back to whatever far-off city he hailed from.

"Drive," Dio stated, and the man nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Just drive," Dio said.

The man nodded obsequiously. "Of course," he said. "Would you like any music? The radio—"

"No music," Dio stated. "I desire silence. I wish to think."

"Of course." He turned the key and the engine purred back to life. He fiddled with the air conditioning settings for a moment, wiped some sweat from his brow, and then turned his attention to pulling the car onto the road.

The car rolled forward smoothly. The beach, he thought. A nice long drive along the coast, that would clear anyone's head. And then maybe a trip to the countryside—

"My thanks, Mr. Sato," Dio stated as he glared out the window.

"Of course, of course," Sato said on reflex, but then a chill shivered down his shoulders.

The strange passenger had never asked him his name, and Sato had never given it.


Dio allowed himself one small smirk as Mr. Sato continued to sweat despite the blaring AC.

He felt no need to terrorize Mr. Sato, but you could learn a lot of things from a man's wallet in the stopped time, and heaven knew he needed some levity.

The car traveled through a few residential roads before pulling onto one of the main streets that would take them through the shopping heart of Morioh. A few boutiquey shops passed by; Dio recognized the now-closed storefront of Cinderella. There were a few restaurants, a few cafes, and then larger department stores— a clothing outlet, a specialty electronics shop, and then around the next corner was the bright and welcoming storefront of the supermarket.

Dio squinted. "Pull over."

The driver quickly complied. Dio rolled the window down. "Offspring!"

Rikiel startled and nearly dropped the bags of groceries he was holding. Ungalo managed a sneer that rivaled the disdain of one of Dio's best. "You can just call us by our names, man," he said as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"It's better than spawn," Rikiel mumbled.

"Those bags look cumbersome," Dio said. "I can give you a ride home in my new car."

Ungalo squinted his eyes even further as he looked over the gleaming and expensive-looking vehicle. "That is a pretty sweet ride."

Dio nodded towards the driver. The trunk glided open, the bags of groceries were dropped inside, and there was a brief scuffle over who would get to ride shotgun and who would be stuck sitting with Dio in the back. Ungalo was the victor; he slid into the front passenger seat and basked in the luxury as Rikiel slunk into the back and shot Dio a wary look.

"Turn us around, Mr. Sato," Dio said. "We'll be going right back to the house we were at before."

The poor man's confusion was clearly only increasing, but he nodded and began to drive.

"I am… curious about something," Dio began, and Ungalo scrunched his eyes shut and leaned his head back against his seat as Rikiel let out a sigh.

"It's nothing bad," Dio added with a pout.

"Ask away, man," Ungalo said as he poked at the buttons controlling the placement of the seat. The incline of the backrest jiggled back and forth until Rikiel gave a warning kick when Ungalo leaned too far back and began to crush his knees.

"My mind has recently been occupied by the concept of nature versus nurture. I was merely thinking about how each of you are somewhere between one-fourth and one-half me, depending upon the actual volume of Joestar genetic material available in my body at the time of—"

"Oh my God, nope, this is exactly the opposite of anything we would ever want to talk about with you," Rikiel said through his hands.

"I was just leading into the actual question," Dio insisted. "Anyway. I wanted to ask each of you about your mothers."

"You just keep finding worse topics of conversation, huh?" Ungalo replied.

"In truth, your mothers would have had a greater hand in shaping you as people than I could have," Dio continued. "And of course, there was no way for what I suppose I must call your second father to influence you, even though some traits of his have stubbornly clung to any descendants of his line. A predilection for chocolate appears to be his indelible impact."

"I take it you don't remember our mothers all too well," Ungalo said. "Seeing as they were either one-night-stands or snacks."

Rikiel glanced towards the driver at the same moment the driver glanced back.

Dio smiled. "Don't worry. We can speak freely. You're a very discreet man, aren't you, Mr. Sato?"

Mr. Sato laughed nervously. Dio considered it an adequate answer.

"Well, my mom sucks and I don't talk to her. That's pretty much all you need to know." Ungalo sniffed. "And from what I've heard from Giorno, that's kinda what you were hoping for."

That can of worms had already been opened and the awful, squiggly contents had been well-observed. Dio nodded before turning his attention to Rikiel. "And you?"

He shrugged. "I mean, I dunno. My mom's fine. She's a little spacey and she makes bad decisions but like, she's fine. And the rest of the family is fine, too. I spent a lot of time with my grandma. My uncle got some money and turned his life around and he was always good for helping us out of tight spots."

Ungalo frowned. "Man, if I had a family to get back to, I would have been freaking the hell out about the time travel bullshit, but you seem super chill about it. Good on you for keeping that under wraps."

"I mean, I am worried," Rikiel said quickly, "but it's also like… I was so sick all the time because of my stupid Stand. I wasn't doing anything with my life, I couldn't work, I couldn't go to school, I wasn't going anywhere except doctor's appointments and therapy sessions and I felt like all I ever did was cost my family money. And no matter how much I spent, nothing ever fucking worked." He grimaced, took a deep breath, and shrugged again. "Running into you guys on the road was terrifying but it was also… I wasn't in a very good place, mentally. I was tired of feeling like nothing but an increasing pile of debt that I could never pay back. I still don't know if I would have been able to go through with what I was planning, but I was doing badly enough that I was planning it, you know?"

"We found you at the lowest point in your life," Dio said quietly.

"Yeah," Rikiel mumbled. "All this Stand and two-Dios stuff is scary as shit, but like… I'm actually doing something now. And I feel better. So. I guess I'm grateful for that. If I make it home— when I make it home, I'll actually have good news to tell them, this time. I'm looking forward to that."

They drove on in pensive silence.

"You tracked me down at a good time, too," Ungalo grumbled. "With my rent stolen like that I totally would have gone on a bender trying to get the money back."

When Jolyne had collapsed within the paradox, Rikiel's skyfish had been there. Perhaps Ungalo's Stand had left some sort of impact on her, as well. If Dio hadn't been in Florida, Rikiel and Ungalo would have faced their worst moments alone— until, of course, Pucci would have found them. And when they were at their weakest, he would have forged them into something stronger.

He would not have forged them into their best selves, of course— in the end, they were merely obstacles for Jolyne to overcome, like last-ditch levees placed before a flood. Dio was familiar with the practice. He had plucked several of his Cairo crew from the gutters and then transformed them into loyal guards.

The car turned a familiar corner and slowed at the wall across from Okuyasu's house.

Dio picked at his nails and appeared nonchalant. "I am not so naive as to think that money solves every problem," he said, "but know this: if I am to have any say in your lives from here on out, then as your father, I will see to it that you will not know debt as intimately as I did ever again."

Silence hung heavy within the car again, but it was a more comfortable one. Rikiel nodded once.

"On a lighter note, we're baking a cake… brownie… thing for Giorno if you want to help," Ungalo said. "Since you know how to cook and all."

"The invitation is appreciated, but I have decided to remain outside the house until nightfall," Dio replied. "Have your... dessert-based festivities on your own."

Ungalo grimaced. "Uh. Alright. Guess you're not much of an eating-food guy, anyway." He pushed the car door open; after an uncertain pause and a glance towards Dio, Rikiel followed.

Once the trunk was emptied and the two were headed to the house, Dio glanced towards the driver. "I'm still in the mood for a drive, dear Mr. Sato. I don't believe we've yet crested thirty kilometers per hour. Perhaps a more energizing route would be along—"

"The beach?" Mr. Sato suggested.

"The beach," Dio echoed with a smile. "My thoughts exactly. You're an excellent driver, Mr. Sato. I may have to keep you."

Mr. Sato laughed nervously and gripped at the steering wheel.


The kitchen had exploded.

Not in the literal sense, though the result would have been about the same. Cabinets were flung open; pots and pans were strewn across the counters; a dire miscalculation in the force required to open a plastic bag of brownie batter mix had left a fine film of chocolate dust over everything. The majority of the mix had landed in the bowl, at least. Ungalo peered down at it as Rikiel read the instructions on the box.

"I can't read the Japanese, but they do put little pictures of the ingredients on the instructions," Rikiel said as he pursed his lips. "That's considerate."

"What all does it need, then?" Ungalo asked.

"Two eggs," Rikiel stated. "Maybe… half a cup of oil. Three… spoons of water." He frowned. "Tablespoons or teaspoons?"

"Teaspoons," Ungalo said decisively. "Gotta be. You always use fancy little teaspoons when baking, yeah?"

"…No," Rikiel said, uncertainly. "But let's go with teaspoons, anyway. It's easier to add more water to a thick batter than to try to take water out of a runny one."

"You're a kitchen genius, man," Ungalo said. "Toss me the eggs and I'll get 'em started."

Rikiel grimaced. "I will hand you the eggs. Very gently." He pulled the fridge door open, retrieved two from the carton, and then took tender steps towards the counter, cradling the eggs in his hands as if they were priceless artifacts. He carefully placed them atop Ungalo's outstretched palm.

With a grin, Ungalo gripped them and held up his hand. "I saw this in a show, once. You can crack the eggs against each other, like this—"

Before Rikiel could even wince and begin to protest, the two eggs shattered in Ungalo's hands. Yolk dripped down into the bowl, as did many minuscule shards of eggshell.

Rikiel scrunched his eyes shut, pressed his fingers to his temples, and took a deep breath before holding it and slowly exhaling.

"Well, they did it a lot better on the show," Ungalo said with a nervous half-laugh. "I mean, both eggs are in, so we're good, right?"

"Yeah, both eggs are in," Rikiel replied. "Shells and all."

"I can pick 'em out," Ungalo insisted. "It'll just take a minute. What about the carrot cake? What do we need for that?"

Rikiel picked up the box but then closed his eyes again and managed his breathing. "I'm putting the eggs in this one," he said.

"Fine, fine," Ungalo said. "But I mean, I might as well since my hands are already all yolky—"

"I'm doing it."

"Oh-kay!" Ungalo said with a decisive nod and a smile, but his expression froze and his eyes narrowed as he glanced towards the entrance of the kitchen. Donatello lurked upon the threshold in a way that made it clear that he was trying to lurk; he gave Ungalo a look of scathing enmity before sniffing dismissively and strolling towards the fridge as if his brothers were not there.

"...Anyway," Ungalo said. "What do we need for the carrot cake?"

Donatello opened the fridge and glared at the contents.

"A cup and a half of milk," Rikiel read from the box.

Donatello opened the fridge, pulled out the milk, and began to drink it straight from the carton. It was already over half empty. Rikiel and Ungalo watched him in disbelief as he chugged until the milk was gone.

"Why!" Ungalo exclaimed.

Donatello tossed the carton onto the counter and wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Because I hate you."

"We're baking these for Giorno's birthday, you dick!" Ungalo yelled.

Donatello went wide-eyed and clenched his teeth.

"Did we buy more milk?" Ungalo asked desperately.

"We ran out before we could. I think we can just use water," Rikiel said as he took a measuring cup to the sink.

"These are all gonna suck so bad," Ungalo groaned as he slumped against the counter.

Someone knocked at the door. Rikiel set the measuring cup down in the sink and sighed. "What now?"

"I got egg hands," Ungalo said, and he lifted them for emphasis. "I can't get it."

Whoever it was knocked again. "I got it," Rikiel said as he jogged over to the door. He took another deep, calming inhale, huffed out a sigh, and pulled the door open.

He let out a muffled shriek and shut it again.

Ungalo stared at him in confusion. "What? Who is it?"

"Erina and the robot hand guy," he whisper-yelled.

Ungalo blanched. "What? Why?! Wait! Did you just close the door on her?"

Rikiel nodded.

"Shit! We can't just let her stand out there," Ungalo said with a grimace. "Right?"

Donatello stared at the door and furrowed his eyebrows. "Who?"

"Oh my God, were you not paying any attention ever?" Ungalo exclaimed.

"I'm gonna open it!" Rikiel shouted.

Ungalo reached out with an egg and batter covered hand. "No! Wait wait wait—"

The door swung open and Rikiel took a few steps back. Joseph peered inside the house with a doubtful expression. Erina smiled cheerily and held up a beautifully iced cake on a platter. "Hello!"

"Hello," Rikiel mumbled as he took another step back.

"Sorry to intrude again," Erina began as she tentatively entered the house. Joseph followed behind her and closed the door with a frown. Rikiel guided them to the kitchen; Erina held up the cake and walked it over to an empty space on the counter. "I just felt that it would be proper for me to introduce myself. I also wanted to contribute to the birthday celebrations."

"You're not intruding!" Ungalo quickly replied. He dashed over to the sink and started washing his hands.

Donatello sidled over to Rikiel. "Seriously, who is this lady?"

"Shut up," Rikiel whispered.

"Are those supposed to be brownies?" Joseph asked as he pointed towards the mess on the counter.

"Yeah," Ungalo grumbled.

Rikiel jabbed his elbow into Donatello's ribs. "Go get Giorno."

Donatello frowned. "Why?"

"Just go get him!" Rikiel hissed. "He and Mista went out into town. Try the cafe or something. Just find him and get him back here. It'll be good for you to finally get your ass out of the house, anyway."

He rolled his eyes and trudged out of the house. He sniffed, glanced back at the front door, and then crossed his arms.

His Stand manifested and scooped up a handful of loose dirt.

Donatello scowled uncertainly as the soil tumbled through his Stand's fingers. The earth here felt much like back in Orlando; a different country, a different history, but the same weight of years and years hanging overhead like a massive cliff face. He could still hone in on the very recent; he could see Giorno and Mista and follow the ground's memory of them to wherever they were now.

With a scowl, he stalked off after them.