"You may turn the radio on, Mr. Sato," Dio said, and he settled back into the plush leather upholstery of the backseat. "I'm quite done thinking."

Mr. Sato moved to adjust the settings, but then he hesitated. "What kind of music would you like?"

Dio hummed. "Something moody… but with an uptempo pace. Something you would listen to in a club in the after-after-hours, losing yourself until the sun rises. Something that's a memento mori and a baptism and a bed made with red silk sheets all at once. And heavy on the bass."

With a nod, Mr. Sato turned the dial to a respectable volume. "I'll play you some Hot 100," he said, and Dio shrugged in response.

At first, the signal was snared on an advertisement; Dio sighed and let some screeching announcement about a liquidation sale wash over him. Then, the smoother tones of the disc jockey came through— "your host, once again, is me, your neighbor, Kai Harada, and I have the perfect song to start revving up the evening. It's the undefeated Number 1 champion at the top of the charts for yet another week—"

And then, the music began.

"Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?"

Dio tilted his head. "Oh," he said. "I know this one—"

Mr. Sato frowned. "Odd," he said. "This isn't a new song at all—"

"Ooh, heaven is a place on earth—"

"It's not that old of a song," Dio said, and then he scowled. "No, well, I suppose—"

"They say in heaven, love comes first—"

"When did it come out?" Mr. Sato said. "Eighty-five? Eighty-six?"

"We'll make heaven a place on earth—"

"Eighty-seven," Dio corrected, and his eyes narrowed. "You said this was the Top 100. Top one-hundred of what?"

"Ooh, heaven is a place on earth—"

"Pop songs," Mr. Sato clarified. "Popular songs, songs that are big on the charts right now, the top hundred in sales on the Oricon chart—"

"I know what a pop song is," Dio snapped.

"Of course, of course, but—"

"Why is this song on now, on this station?"

"I don't know! I thought the top song was um, well, the funny one about the dough balls. I don't keep up with popular music fads. I like rock and roll."

"In this world we're just beginning—"

"Your taste in music is irrelevant here, Mr. Sato. I want to know why—"

"To understand the miracle of living—"

"Maybe it was in a movie," Mr. Sato exclaimed. "Songs always get a big boost in popularity after they're in a movie—"

Dio scraped his fingers against his temple and scowled.

"We'll make heaven a place on earth, heaven is a place on earth—"

Mr. Sato shifted uneasily and glanced at the rearview mirror. "You don't like the song? I'll change the station."

"Go away," Dio snarled, and Mr. Sato froze mid-reach for the dial.

The silence between them was only made heavier as Belinda Carlisle sang on.

"Not you," Dio said with a sigh as Mr. Sato began to warily grab at the car door handle. "I will apologize for my outburst, if I must. Go ahead and change the station. Listen to whatever pleases you. I don't care."

Mr. Sato took a deep breath, patted his knees, reached out for the dial, and then twisted it. "There we go," he mumbled. "Good ol' rock and roll."

Drums were thwacked and guitars grooved. Mr. Sato nodded to the beat.

"This is acceptable," Dio said absently.

"The kids like this band," Mr. Sato said. "It has some sort of French name. L'arc something. This song is, um…" He snapped his fingers and looked up as he tried to remember. "Heaven's Drive. Best hit off the album. Might be on the Top 100 too, now that I think of it."

Dio's lip twitched.

"Jazz," Mr. Sato said as he pushed the dial. "Can't go wrong with jazz."

Somehow, the station changing dial slipped from beneath his finger, popped off the dash, landed on the passenger seat, and was crushed into a small and crumpled ball. The radio cut to silence as the volume dial spun itself to zero.

"Drive me back to that decrepit husk of a house we stopped at and you may go home completely unscathed," Dio said.

Upon the living room wall, a hole-ridden clock weakly ticked out the time. Erina, Joseph, and the four brothers sat in heavy silence. Ungalo, Rikiel, and Giorno shared the couch; Donatello had dragged a spare chair in from the kitchen and had seated himself in a far corner of the room. Joseph had claimed a frumpy rocking chair, and Erina had been encouraged onto a dusty but comfortable looking loveseat. The half-eaten cake slumped upon its tray on the coffee table.

"Any more?" Erina said, and she smiled as she gestured with the icing-covered breadth of the cake server.

Rikiel pushed a lump of crumbs from one edge of his plate to the other as he shook his head.

"No thanks!" Ungalo said. "Not that the first slice wasn't like, good, though. It was good. I just don't want a second slice. I just wanted to say that because, like, there was a cartoon I saw as a kid where a character made some like, really gross potato slop soup and was all proud of it so her friends would end up eating it out of pity but they'd be like, oh, that first serving was so good, I can't possibly have anymore, so she was happy that they all liked her bad soup but they really didn't so—"

"Yeah, I'll have some more," Donatello said, and he held out his plate. "Lay it on me."

Erina nodded and happily cut him a generous slice. Joseph's eyebrows had long been furrowed into a valley of disbelief, and now they seemed to sink a little further. The scuffed-up rocking chair creaked as he leaned back. Erina slid the cake onto his plate, and with a nod, Donatello took the cake, dug in with his fork, and enjoyed a hearty bite.

"Oh, so you talk to her like a normal person," Ungalo grumbled.

Donatello spoke around the forkful. "Why wouldn't I?"

Ungalo threw his arms out wide. "Dude, can you read the room?"

"Can you?" Rikiel hissed, and he crossed his arms over his knees as his glare slid from Donatello to Ungalo. "Just— shut up. Even Giorno isn't…" He trailed off, and his gaze flicked over to Giorno before dropping to some safe place on the ground.

Giorno had remained silent in a way that his brothers had not yet been able to discern as characteristic or uncharacteristic; his perfectly-trained poker face had painted his lack of conversation as either a cool detachment or a nervous dearth of words. He had been merely polite. He had introduced himself to both Erina and Joseph (and had also introduced Mista, who had then quickly made a tactical retreat), he had complimented Erina on the cake in both decoration and flavor, and then he had said nothing more as he slowly ate his slice.

Now, though, the excuse of eating only applied to Donatello, who was digging into his second piece with gusto. Giorno, Rikiel, and Ungalo sat in increasingly awkward silence. Joseph began to tap the toe of his boot against the ground. Erina smiled and folded her hands in her lap, but her eyes grew distant and sad.

"Well," Joseph finally said, and he quirked his brow at Rikiel. "I can totally see it in your nose."

Rikiel stared at him. When he blinked, his whole face scrunched, as if he was hoping that when he opened his eyes, he would be somewhere else. When it didn't quite work, he sniffed. "My nose?"

"Totally. You've got the same shape, too," he said, and he pointed to Giorno. "And you," he said, and his hand whirred as he steered his pointing finger towards Donatello.

"Of course we do," Donatello said through a glob of icing. "We're related. Unfortunately."

Joseph tapped his finger against his own nose, sighed, and then settled back in his chair. "My nose has been broken once or twice or thrice," he explained. "So I lost the shape a little. How 'bout you?" he asked, and he leaned forward to address Ungalo. "You've been in some scuffles, too? That schnoz looks demolished."

"I've never broken my nose," Ungalo said.

"Oh," Joseph said, and he frowned. "Then what's wrong with your fa—"

"We all have our own quirks," Giorno said, his tone firm, and both Rikiel and Ungalo were startled into silence. Even Donatello raised his eyebrows as he took another scoop. "For example," Giorno continued, and he lifted his hand. His thumb and forefinger wrapped around the cartilage of his ear and it folded like an envelope. With a quick twist of his wrist, he tucked it in and against his ear canal; it remained there, inverted, until he flexed his jaw and his ear unfurled.

"My goodness," Erina said in genuine astonishment.

Ungalo stuck out his tongue and bit it. "Ew, dude. I hate that."

"How the hell?" Joseph winced as his steel fingers clamped a bit too hard upon his own earlobe. "My ears are too big to do that. No fair."

"Wait, can I do it?" Ungalo's face contorted as he reached around his head and pulled at his ears. Rikiel, with an expression of vague distaste cut with curiosity, briefly touched his own before thinking better of it and dropping his hands to his lap.

"Perhaps it doesn't run in the family," Giorno said.

Erina laughed. It was a short, abrupt thing, and quickly muffled, but it caused Giorno to allow himself a small smile. It hadn't been a nervous laugh, or a hollow one brought forth by bitterness; something about it was instead like steam released from an overstressed valve. The tension held through her shoulders had relented, and while she still held a ramrod posture of practiced formality, an ease came to her movements, and the whole room felt lighter for it.

"Quirks, huh. Stands are pretty quirky," Donatello said, and though he sounded blasé, the dissipated tension seemed to have drifted over to him. He shoved the last clump of his cake onto his fork.

"Oh, yes," Erina said, and she patted her hands on her knees. "Your guardian angels! Do you all have one?"

"More like demons," Donatello said with a scowl, and Rikiel frowned in turn.

"There are pros and cons," Rikiel carefully admitted when Erina looked concerned. "Mine made me really sick, but that was just because I didn't know how to control it."

"And it's my Stand's fault that Donnie's life is so incredibly tragic," Ungalo expounded with a wide and dramatic swoop of his arm. "You see, it all began when—"

"First of all, call me Donnie again and you die," Donatello stated. "Second of all—"

Joseph chuckled and tilted his head back in recollection. "Heh. Jotaro said the same thing about his Stand, all those years ago."

Giorno blinked. "Kujo didn't understand his Stand?"

"Not one bit," Joseph said happily. "He even arrested himself. Thought he was a danger to society."

"We should start, like, a Stand support group," Ungalo exclaimed. "How many people get a Stand and are confused as all hell about it and then they f— fuh," he stammered, an elusive verbal filter making an extraordinary appearance due to Erina's presence. "They ruin their lives because they don't know what they're doing? We could have used that help. There should be Stand mentors, Stand schools, Stand degrees, doctors of Standology—"

Erina smiled. "This sounds like the perfect project for the Speedwagon Foundation."

The corner of Donatello's mouth twisted with doubt. "Isn't that, like… an oil company?"

"Only partly," Giorno explained. "The funds from Robert Speedwagon's oil fields created the endowment for the Foundation, with stipulations that it be used exclusively for remedial environmental conservation work, medical research for the good of humankind, and…" He trailed off pursed his lips. "Research into the supernatural, conducted in ways that I personally hold some qualms with, but I do believe that their efforts result in a net good. Their Stand division is…"

"Limited," Joseph said with a nod. "Powerful, but limited. Such is the fateful nature of Stands."

Giorno closed his eyes. "Remind me to introduce you to our turtle."

Joseph furrowed his brows. "You… need to introduce me to your turtle?"

"What do your Stands look like?" Erina asked.

"Oh, anything, really," Ungalo said. "Mine shows up as like, characters—"

Joseph leaned to his side and spoke from the corner of his mouth. "It's considered a personal question."

Erina and Ungalo were both surprised. "It is?" Erina asked. "Wait— oh, he did say—I thought he was being snide—"

"See, I don't know this stuff," Ungalo said with a pout. "This is why we need Stand schools and shi—"

"Mine is like, a bug," Rikiel said, and he held out his hand to show her. A beetle-like green shape was clasped around his wrist. "I don't really even think of it as my Stand, though— it's the skyfish that do everything, so…"

"Oh, I don't have one, dear," Erina said. "I can't even see them. I was just… curious. My sincerest apologies if I was rude."

He slowly dropped his hand back to his lap and the Stand faded away. "You weren't rude," Rikiel said. "I don't mind it at all."

"What about yours?" Ungalo said, and he looked towards Donatello. "You've threatened me with yours, but none of us have seen it yet."

"No," Donatello said.

"Aw, man, c'mon—"

"She can't even see it," he snapped. "And like hell I'm letting you—"

"Fine, dude, whatever," Ungalo said, and he flopped back against the couch. "Giorno has the coolest one, anyway. No contest there."

Joseph, who was doing a terrible job of maintaining his own recommendation of politeness, let his gaze flit towards Giorno with a sort of suspicious curiosity before sliding up to somewhere neutral on the ceiling.

"Gold Experience is pretty cool," Giorno admitted, and that was all he offered.

"Could I have a Stand?" Erina asked.

The room fell silent.

"It's surely not unbecoming of a lady to have one," she added.

"Jolyne's got one, right?" Ungalo said. "She can make, like, floss."

"String," Rikiel corrected.

"As far as I know, Stands, while rare, are equally prevalent across all genders," Giorno said. "It's just that…"

"Holly's Stand made her sick," Joseph stated. "It was uncontrollable. That may not be the case for you. But it may also be." He sighed. "And her Stand only manifested because of our family's least favorite uncle. Some people are aware of their Stands from birth. Others have it thrust upon them."

"It could kill you," Giorno said. "Not just the Stand itself, but the process of getting the Stand."

"Dio believes me capable of it," she murmured, adrift in her thoughts.

There was a collective raising of eyebrows.

It took a few moments for Joseph to gather himself. "I don't know if there are many things left in Cairo that Dio didn't try giving a Stand to," he grumbled. "I don't want to know how many orangutans it took for him to... Now, I'm not saying that you couldn't handle it," he added hurriedly. "I mean, you've adapted to… this," he said, and his arm waved out wide, implicating the now very uncomfortable-looking brothers in his gesture. "If you've adapted to this, you can adapt to anything. You're one of the strongest… it's just…"

"You're worried," Erina said, and her expression softened. "And… you would have remembered."

Joseph let out a long exhale and nodded. "I suppose you're right," he said. "I don't remember you ever having anything even remotely like a Stand. All of your strength was just you."

The room settled back into silence. After a few long moments, Erina spoke up. "Speaking of remembering— this is… important, I think, for you to know. In this time, in this year, I'm— I'm the only one who will remember, and will be willing to speak to you of it. So, here," she said, and after she reached behind her neck to unlatch a necklace, she waved her hand to urge them all closer. "Come here, come here."

Giorno stood and approached her; Ungalo sidled over as Rikiel trailed along behind him. Reluctantly, almost warily, Donatello set aside his plate and stood. He circled around to observe from an adjacent distance.

She opened the locket and held it out to Giorno. "The left side is Jonathan. The right is George. I would…" She trailed off and watched as Giorno peered down at the tiny photographs, his expression unreadable. When Ungalo and Rikiel shuffled closer to him, he held it out further so that they could see. Even Donatello leaned against the arm of the seat and looked down, his usually harsh expression softened by intrigue.

"George would be your— your— a brother, of… sorts," she said, and Joseph tensed uneasily as she navigated the statement. "My son. He is serving in the Royal Flying Corps. He is brave, and smart, and kind, and so, so much like his father. And to know that he became a father, too— Joseph— of his character— you know, surely. And— goodness, how careless of me. In this year, in your age, to speak of him— the difficulty is more yours than mine. Is he… passed, by now? No. Never mind. I should not have asked. I cannot beg the truth of time from you. Do not tell me."

For a moment, a distant anger rolled across Joseph's expression like thunder, but he merely rubbed his palm across his beard and blinked away dampness from his eyes. The corner of his mouth twisted downward.

Erina's hands were trembling. Her displacement in time had yawned out as a wide, vast gulf. The awareness of it came with a new sense of vertigo. "But I can speak of Jonathan," she said, and something about her steadied. "He was… impossible. Incredible. It was almost strange… A lot of people considered him quite simple," she said, and she made a half-laugh. "He always held a child's idea of a hero in his heart. It was a kind of naivete, and a kind of strength. Very few people, I think, ever saw him for what he really was. Robert, William, myself, and…" She frowned, looked aside, and then gathered herself. "He was like a shooting star. Bright. Unforgettable. Gone."

There was a long silence. Erina did not cry.

"I would like for you all to meet them both, some day," Erina finally said, her voice strained. "If I am here— If such a thing could be done—"

Joseph put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and stared at the floor. Giorno looked up at her, his eyes wide.

Something in the kitchen crashed. Rikiel nearly shrieked.

Dio's voice called out from the other room; he was lecturing to the house at large. "Offspring. How many times must I remind you that this is not our house? Don't leave the kitchen looking like a crime scene. At least put the dirty dishes in the sink."

The roiling anger returned to Joseph's expression. Erina, unmoving, appeared distant. Giorno pressed the locket back into her palm and then straightened. Ungalo furrowed his brows and wiped his nose against his sleeve; Donatello, scowling, remained in place.

The sink turned on. Dishes clattered.

"Did you even hear the door open?" Rikiel whispered. "When did he get here?"

"He probably stopped time," Ungalo muttered back. "He uses his Stand for all kinds of dumb crap."

"That isn't the… bonus Dio, is it?" Rikiel asked.

"No," Giorno said quietly. "The sense of impending doom is not as strong." He turned his wrist to glance at a tasteful yet extravagant watch. "He did say he would return in time for supper."

"Well," Joseph said loudly, and he clapped his hands against his knees. "I'd like to thank you boys for sharing this lovely cake with us, but I think it's time for Erina and I to go."

The sounds from the kitchen abruptly ceased.

"I know I can't stay," Joseph added. "If I did, I'd be in the mood for a stake."

"Joseph," Erina said.

"Stiff upper lip, as is our way," Joseph said, and he tapped his finger beneath his nose. "Nothing wrong here, not at all."

"Joseph," Erina said, more firmly.

He stood. For a moment, he was rigid, his shoulders taut with frustration; then, he slumped, and the look he gave Erina was more like pleading.

"Don't hurt yourself like this," he said. "I hate seeing you sad."

Erina did not rise from her seat.

Rikiel flinched. Dio had appeared at the threshold of the living room. He had obviously stopped time in order to approach, but even with the few extra moments to prepare, the blankness in his expression revealed a rare lack of words.

Soon, though, he opened his mouth, and Rikiel winced in advance. "My apologies," Dio said. "I wasn't aware that you were here. I couldn't smell you over the chocolate catastrophe."

No one responded.

"Shall I leave the house again?" Dio asked. "I did just let my driver go, but it's nearing sunset. I will survive a walk."

"You know what, let me walk with you," Joseph said. "Just a block or two. That's all the time I need to discuss a few important things regarding W-W-Uno."

Dio stared at him. "Double-u double-u Uno."

"Indeed," Joseph said. "Let's take this outside."

Dio tilted his head back. "World War One," he said. "Oh. I see."

A vein bulged in Joseph's forehead. Giorno took a step forward. "I'll walk with you, as well," he said.

"No," Joseph said. "I'm sure you're a great peacekeeper, but I'll like you much better if this is none of your business. Stay with Erina."

Erina had closed her eyes. "I know that there is a first and second World War, Joseph," she stated. "What have you two not been telling me?"

The front door creaked. Dio felt a wave of gratefulness for the distraction, but the tide rapidly drew out into a vague and hollow panic. "Ciao," Gyro called out, and he shook a paper bag. "Did you know you can make crazy money doing juggling tricks for tourists on the beach? Additionally, is five thousand yen a high enough amount to justify selling out? Johnny-boy thinks I'm besmirching the Spin by doing it but, like, come on. I only used it a little bit. Once. And counterclockwise. Oh, hello, ma'am," he said, and he tipped the slotted brim of his hat; then, as if suddenly remembering he was inside, he took the hat off entirely. "I don't think we're acquainted. Gyro Zeppeli."

Erina blinked at him. Joseph stared, tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and then stared some more.

Johnny had trailed along behind Gyro, but now he took a step to the side. His eyes had locked on to Erina, and an absolute confusion had been cast over his face like a sheet. He clearly felt some small sense of recognition, but its presence only confounded him further. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.

"Huh?" he finally said.

Erina had gone pale. The blankness of her expression hid a hint of horror. "Jo…?"

"No," Dio said. "Everyone out."

A second was split, and all but Erina suddenly found themselves hoisted into the backyard.