**As someone who is very close with their family, I appreciate the tightness of the Joestar family lineage. Like the Joestars, we all have different morals, goals, and personalities, yet we always manage to find time for each other and will do most anything for one another. I decided to dedicate each chapter to each Joestar and insert moments or memories that would make up who they are. Some of these memories belong to my family that I've adjusted to match to the closest Joestar, while others are headcanons I think need to happen. I hope y'all find this satisfying and let me know any other family headcanons you may have. I'd love to hear it.

Oh, and the titles are from various songs I think fit each Joestar (just like how Araki names every character after some rock band or song—two can play at this game, good sir). I chose "The Curse of the Fold" from Shawn James as Jonathan's song (this chapter) and the title of the fic is from "Youth" by Daughter. Enjoy!**

When I was young, I admired the love my parents possessed, for each other, for me, for the world.

One of Jonathan's earliest memories was a night sky full of twinkling stars. His family managed to get away from the polluted air of downtown London and escape into the wooded rural areas of England. He was in his mother's arms and gazing up adoringly at the sky as his father pointed out the hidden constellations among the stars.

"And there's Orion," he said. "It's probably the most recognizable constellation, and the brightest too."

His mother pointed up as she pressed her lips to Jonathan's ear, whispering, "Do you see it? That makes up the head, that one the club, and his belt—"

Jonathan gasped in recognition and pointed after her. "I see it! I see it!"

She giggled and his father explained the history of the constellation (he could go on and on about the past and its contributions to humanity). "Orion, you see, was a Greek demigod, the son of Poseidon. He was a hunter of incredible strength and speed. It was said that he stood over every man and had the sharpest mind of them all, for none could escape him. He was a great companion of Artemis, who was the goddess of the hunt, but her twin brother feared that she was in love with Orion and killed him. Zeus later placed him here, among the stars."

Jonathan looked onward with his mouth agape, picturing what sorts of extraordinary adventures Orion had been on. His mother brushed his hair out of his eyes. "The moral of Orion's story is to not make rash decisions. Apollo judged Orion harshly and killed him based on a hunch. There was no proof that Orion planned to do anything sinister to his sister."

"And yet," his father added, "Orion, as you can see, is surrounded by darkness." Here he indicated to the black sky and then once again pointed out each shining star. "He is surrounded but he is still the brightest, still fighting on. Maybe his placement among the stars say that we too must keep on fighting, not only for ourselves but for those other stars as well."

They would present moral lessons like that whenever the occasion arose. Jonathan eventually came to treasure those lessons and was glad he had parents who took the time to teach him these things. Their efforts told him that he was loved, and that they cared deeply for how he would see the world.

He hadn't understood how dark the world could really be yet, especially at such a young age, but he knew that there would always be light. He saw his mother give countless items to the homeless of London: money, clothes, food. His father always managed to make time for those in need, let it be a colleague at work or a poverty-stricken man on the side of the road. And, of course, they showered Jonathan with parental love and opportunities to grow and learn.

Jonathan always looked forward to hearing George's tales about faraway lands and worlds before their own. He'd been everywhere and seen everything, it seemed—he told him about the ancient Egyptians and their profound wisdom, the silk road to China's powerful Han dynasty, the Aztecs and their bizarre rituals. Sometimes Jonathan could hardly believe that all these things and all these people had existed on this same planet.

"I'd like to travel the world with you, Father," he exclaimed one day, admiring over the precious artifacts and notes scattered around his desk. "I want to be where these people once stood."

His thick mustache lifted as he smiled warmly. "I'd love to have you there, JoJo. I know we would have a marvelous time."

His mother then sighed and pulled Jonathan into a hug. "I only have you two and one of you has to leave constantly. Let me have my JoJo."

Jonathan giggled and tugged on her arms. "You can come with us, Mother! It wouldn't be the same without you anyhow."

"Oh, my darling." She squeezed him tightly and planted kisses on the top of his messy head. "Don't you ever change. Don't change and don't leave me."

He hugged her back. "I would never."

She gasped and he saw the bright smile she sent his father's way. "You hear that? He's not leaving my arms ever again."

"I'm sure that's not what he meant."

"It only matters what I heard, not what he meant to say."

George chuckled as she enveloped their son into her powerfully loving arms, leaving a happy laugh on Jonathan's lips and a warm fire in his heart.

When his mother died, Jonathan held on to her words and advice a little more tightly. He cherished the little moments like whenever the thunder was too loud for Jonathan and he'd hurry into his parents' bedroom, just for his mother to hold him close and carry him back to his own room, where she'd eventually fall asleep with him. Or the random motherly affections she couldn't hold back and would chase him down the hall just to smother him with hugs and kisses.

He also liked seeing his parents happy. His mother would sometimes physically pull his father away from work and ballroom dance around the living room, laughing like they were still young and carefree. His father treated her like the Queen of England, like she was a goddess walking among humans.

Jonathan hoped that one day he would be able to share these sweet little moments that his parents often had with someone else. And the opportunity came to him in the form of a little blonde girl with eyes brighter than Orion's belt.

I was young when I fell in love for the first and only time.

He didn't know anything about Erina when he first saw her, only that she was a pretty little girl trapped in the claws of playground bullies. Being all heart and no bodily strength, he ended up on the ground with a bruised eye, but he still counted it as his first victory, for they were the ones who ran away.

His hand hovered over his eye, throbbing with a dull pain. Erina bent down and he could feel her eyes on him. Humiliation began to settle on his shoulders—how could he act like such a fool in front of this pretty girl?—and he buried his face in his hands to shield the blush he knew was on his cheeks.

"Are you hurt?" she asked him.

"N-No, I'm fine. I just—"

Without asking, she gently pried away one of his wrists and moved closer to check his eye. His face flared up as he inched away but didn't pull back his hand.

"Hmm." She blinked and then withdrew. "Your eye is swelling and turning a dark color. You need help."

She then let him go only to stand up and offer her hand. "My father is a doctor. I can bring you to him; we don't live too far."

"Oh, no. I will be fine. I just need—"

"Nonsense." She grabbed his wrist again and pull him onto his feet. "Come with me."

Stuttering noises came out of Jonathan's mouth, yet he made no move to disobey her. His feet fell in sync with hers and he let her guide him down a gravel path. He tried to will the overbearing heat away from his face, but that probably became more trouble than it was worth.

Erina talked the whole time they lumbered over to her parents' house, thanking him for protecting her and saying that she wanted to help him as well, for she wished to become a nurse when she grew up. He looked at her sunshine hair, clear blue eyes, ivory skin, and delicate facial features. He noticed the missing tooth on her upper row of teeth, near the left side.

Jonathan didn't remember much from his first visit to the Pendleton house. He did, however, recall Erina's father asking what she was doing bringing a boy home and she answered with the truth, telling him what happened.

"What's your name, boy?" her father asked.

"Jonathan Joestar, sir."

His bushy eyebrows raised. "Ah, you're George's kid. I should've known; you look just like him."

He then invited him in and attended to his wounded eye and the scars on his palms from falling onto the gravel. Erina had her hands behind her back, but her spine was hunched over in interest as she watched her father at work, loosely clutching her dolls that she was playing with earlier. Dr. Pendleton then sent Jonathan back home, and Erina waved shyly from the doorway. He repeated the gesture and stood there looking at the closed door for some time before walking back up the hill.

The urges to keep seeing her again never went away after that.

Erina was a proper lady for Victorian England, but there was a little fire in her as well. She did things like collecting dandelions in an open field and always sat with her back straight and her hands in her lap. She dressed modestly and often played with the tips of her hair whenever she was feeling shy. But she also gave surprisingly cold glares whenever Dr. Pendleton told her not to do something. Sometimes she would directly challenge him and stay out later than what he told her to or run off to another place when she said she would go elsewhere.

Erina once came to visit the Joestar Manor in the midst of a snowstorm by herself with a little red sled behind her, in hopes of seeing Jonathan. Jonathan had been sitting in the living room by the fire whilst reading a book when a feeble knock sounded on the front door. His eyebrows crinkled in confusion as he looked back over his seat. He glanced over at Dio, who had been sitting on the other side of him, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, seemingly bored out of his mind.

"Did you hear that?" he asked him.

But, as usual, Dio made no effort to make himself useful to Jonathan's benefit. He just went on staring upwards with his leg draped over the armrest of the chair, flicking it in boredom.

"Now who could that be?" his father voiced aloud as he marched up to the door. "Who has half a brain to be walking out in this weather?"

The door creaked open, and his father let out a strangled gasp. "Miss Erina! What are you doing out here?"

Dio and Jonathan both responded to George's exclamation. While Jonathan practically jolted out of his seat and dashed up to the front door, Dio merely brought his head downward until his daggered eyes landed on her. Jonathan didn't catch the scowl on his face when he ran off.

"I was wondering if Jonathan wanted to play," Erina answered innocently as George grabbed her arms and yanked her inside, red sled and everything.

"My child, it's absolutely freezing out there. Does your father know where you are? Did you bother to tell him?"

"No, he's busy with a patient."

"Oh, Good Lord."

Erina stomped on her booted feet, and clumps of snow fell to the carpeted floor. Jonathan approached her and she smiled up at him, waving excitedly.

"Hi, JoJo. Would you like to go sledding?"

He smiled back. "Hi, Erina. We—"

"No, absolutely not," George interrupted. "No one is going sledding in this weather. I'm going to send a telegram to your father, Miss Erina. Jonathan, take her to the fire and I'll get some blankets." He then walked off with a disapproving shake of his head.

Jonathan did as he was told and took hold of Erina's bare fingers, which burned from the cold. He hissed through his teeth. "Your fingers are like icicles."

She grinned mischievously. "Is that so?" She then latched out and cupped his face in her hands, and the sudden frosty sensation caused him to flinch back and let out a little pubescent squeak. She laughed to herself as she followed him to the fire.

They settled on the floor; Erina held out her hands to the fire and shuddered in delight. "A fire never felt so nice," she commented. She spotted Dio from the corner of her eye and smiled up at him with a little wave of her reddened fingers. "Hello, Dio."

Dio had been relatively new to the Joestar Manor at that time, and Erina hadn't seen much of him to form an opinion on him yet, but she was still well-mannered toward him. Jonathan, who was situated between the two, looked up at Dio and waited to see what he would do. He gave him a look that said "be careful with what you say", but Dio didn't even look his way.

Huffing to himself and rolling his eyes, he lifted out of his chair and then dragged himself further into the mansion, as if the mere sight of Erina was enough to disgust him. Jonathan frowned but was glad that he didn't do anything else.

Both Jonathan and Erina's fathers were passionate about their work and, because of their children's frequent visits with one another, the two soon enough became good friends. Jonathan remembered overhearing them when the Joestars and Pendletons were invited to a lavish party for reasons he couldn't recall now. But before Erina pulled him along to go dancing (which was really just holding hands and spinning around), he heard Dr. Pendleton say to George, "Every time we meet, I must confess, I feel as though we are setting up an arranged marriage."

His father laughed and added "Those two are the ones who are arranging it. We're simply the bridesmaids."

All the ice-skating races, the jumps into summer ponds, the people-watching in downtown London, all the little adventures of romance suddenly came to an end when Erina moved away with her father to India, and Jonathan had to admit, he was more than a little brokenhearted. His life, more or less, fell apart during her absence, along with the Joestar Manor, the trust of his friends, and his own father, all at the hands of Dio. Hope was scarce, joy was like a treasure hunt, buried somewhere under mountains of dirt and rubbish. He held on to the possibility that she would come back, or that he would find her, one way or another. And she finally did make her way back to him, the invisible thread that tied them together never severing.

His reunion with her seven years later brought him out of this curse of the fold, the threat of folding into himself whilst under the continuous pressure of Dio. They picked up right where they left off, as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed between them. It was during these exchanges that he knew that it wasn't the things they'd done together when they were young and wild, but one another's company that made it all worthwhile. It didn't matter what they did, just as long as she was with him.

With him slowly recovering from the fiery battle with Dio, they couldn't do much anything anyway, besides go for the occasional walk. But he could listen to her all day. They spoke of whatever came to their minds: what they'd done in those seven years apart, memories they both shared, what they hoped for the future. She would sit by his bedside in the hospital, cupping in his hand in both of hers and stroking it as if she were recalling all the times they held hands as kids.

He wasn't sure what it was exactly that caused him to do it—the way the sun brightened her shiny yet silky hair, how her tiny hand clutched at his elbow in both trust and affection, the way her smile never once changed from when she was a child—but he found himself tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and slowly leaning in.

She blinked in mild surprise. "What are you doing?"

His scarred knuckles brushed against her peachy skin. "Something I should've done a long time ago."

It was gentle yet persistent, their first kiss together. Jonathan had no idea what he was doing, yet it somehow felt right, as if he were born to do this. Erina hardly hesitated as she combed her fingers through his hair, and he had to stifle a chuckle against her lips. She always had a peculiar habit of touching his hair, somehow, someway. Back when they were youngsters, she wanted to know how many ponytails she could put in his hair (the answer was thirteen). Her hands would linger whenever she claimed to be brushing away a leaf from his locks. She'd giggle yet lean into him and cradle his head whenever he wanted to make her laugh by rubbing his head into the crook of her neck like a dog shaking the rainwater from its coat.

He didn't want to part, but they had to breathe either way.

When they did, Erina, with this pure and adoring look in her eyes, lightly touched his chin. "Thank you," she whispered. "That was the best homecoming gift I've ever received."

He smiled, his cheeks aching a little from all the laughing and grinning he did that day. "It was my pleasure."

Seeing her again—now a lovely young woman with longer hair and sharper cheekbones, but she still possessed the same brilliant stars for eyes—awoken a different memory within him.

Before the fire, before she even left, George had pulled Jonathan to the side, saying he had something for him to see. He figured he wanted to show him another priceless artifact he came across during one of his recent trips to Latin America and, when they stepped into his room, Jonathan looked at his desk and the notes littered across it.

"Over here, JoJo."

George had fished out something from the bedside table. Jonathan walked over and when George turned around, he noticed a little black box in his hands. Still thinking that it was something that belonged in a museum somewhere, he smiled in anticipation, but his eyebrows crinkled in confusion when George opened it and revealed a small ring with a shiny diamond on the top.

It looked strangely familiar and something inside Jonathan dropped when George clarified, "This was your mother's wedding ring."

He glanced up and saw the serious gaze his father wore. Jonathan looked down and then back up again. "You had it this entire time?"

A slow nod. "I took it right before she was buried."

"Why?"

"I wasn't ready to let her go yet, but now I know I've held on for too long."

A silence passed between them, one that carried a certain kind of sorrow that only could be felt at funerals. George sighed and then closed the box, holding it out toward him. "Which is why I want you to take it."

Jonathan blinked. "Huh?"

"I've seen the way you look at Miss Erina…"

Normally Jonathan would've blushed at a comment like that, but he was a little older now, a little more mature, and it wasn't like their romance was a secret. He merely pursed his lips and let his father go on.

"She's a lovely lady and I truly believe God has created a bond between you two. You both genuinely appear happy in one another's company, and that's all I could ever ask for. I want you to have this, Jonathan, and give it to her whenever you're ready."

He reached out and took Jonathan's wrist while he said this, and then carefully placed the box in the center of his palm. He let him go and stepped back. "Your mother would've wanted it."

Jonathan's fingers gently wrapped the object, feeling its velvety texture. There was a certain weight to it, he realized, as if he were holding a chandelier, heavy yet fragile. The candles' flames would waver and the diamonds would clank together if he moved too quickly, but the responsibility wasn't bothersome. How could he let go of something so beautiful? How could he drop something that was clearly worth it?

He smiled up at his father. "Thank you."

George returned the gesture and the two embraced. When Jonathan turned around to exit the room, he discovered that the door had been left ajar and the glare of Dio's dark eyes were peeking through the blackness of the hallway. A flash of blond faded into the darkness as he walked away.

A few days later, Erina ran away from him when he spotted her downtown, shame following her like a shadow.

Jonathan promised to himself that the ring would be the first thing he would give her if he lived the upcoming battles Baron Zeppeli had warned him about.

And he did. To be honest, he was a little surprised he lived on, despite everything Dio threw at him and his own ambition. He was even more surprised that he held the power to end Dio's life—he didn't want to be a murderer but the evil growing inside his brother had to be stopped. At least that's what he told himself.

Instead of falling into that curse of the fold again, he picked himself back up and trudged home, still covered in blood, sweat, and tears. The sky was full of stars that night, and when Jonathan glanced up, he could easily spot Orion among them, club raised, shield positioned. Huffing heavily, he moved onward while dragging his sword behind him.

The house still had its lights on, and Jonathan believed he saw someone pass through one of the windows. A moment later, the front door flew open and there she stood with her hair unfurled and her nightgown fluttering in the wind. She tucked a loose shawl around her shoulders and then came sprinting after him.

A small smile tugged at Jonathan's lips. He tried moving faster, despite the enormous pain that weighed down his body. The sword slipped through his grasp and clattered on the ground, but he didn't bother to pick it up. Erina was obviously faster than him at the moment, and she rapidly closed the distance between them, spreading out her arms before they made contact.

"Oh, my Jonathan!" she exclaimed as he stumbled into her arms. She lost a bit of her footing at the sudden impact, but she straightened herself up before they both fell over. "Jona—oh, my good Lord, what happened to you? Where have you been? You-You need help."

He mumbled her name into her shoulder as she panicked, checking out his wounds. She was clearly scared, of course, but there was an underbelly of anger in her voice. Was she angry at him for running off and getting himself almost killed or angry at the person who did all this to him? He wasn't sure.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking back at her with a crooked smile. "I don't look like myself right now."

She frowned at him, obviously not amused. "Stop looking at me like that. Don't try to make light of this—"

"Do you remember when we were twelve and I was in a boxing match with some other boys? I got in over my head and ended up losing terribly?"

"Jonathan, I don't—"

"I had a black eye from that fight. Just like the day when we first met."

She huffed and her frown deepened. "Yes, I remember that match. I didn't feel sorry for you then, and if you keep talking and delaying your treatment, I won't feel sorry for the discomfort you'll feel later. Now can we please get you inside? You need serious medical attention."

"One moment, Doctor Pendleton. There's something I need to tell you."

He took a step back and rummaged through his pocket. He prayed that it wasn't damaged in any way, and he let out another sigh of relief when he found it to be intact.

Erina gripped his elbows and tugged back hard, but Jonathan barely even budged. "You're starting to make me upset, you amateur-Hercules. Please, for the love of God, let me help you."

"I really must do this, Erina. Please let me."

"What are you—"

She fell silent once she noticed him slowly lowering himself onto one knee. Pain shot up his thigh as he did so, but he swallowed a grunt and pried open that little box. His mother's diamond shone splendidly in the moonlight; it frankly deserved to be placed among the stars, it was so bright.

"This moment went smoother in my head," he muttered under his breath. He then coughed into his wrist, raised the ring, and gazed up at Erina.

"You never leave my mind, Erina. Everything seems better around you—the flowers seem prettier, the sun brighter. You alone are a gift to the world, and, though it may seem selfish of me, I would like to keep you in my life, for as long as I can. I don't think I can ever love anyone else as much as I love you."

His heart pounded not from exhaustion, but from nervousness. "Will you please do me the biggest honor of marrying me?"

Her face was impassive, and it scared him a little. She slowly shook her head and murmured, "Don't ask me stupid questions, Jonathan. You already knew the answer the moment that question entered your head."

She then leaned downward, cupped his sweaty face in her small hands, and pressed her lips against his.

Her long hair fell forward and curtained them as if they were in their own little golden world. She tasted like a long drink of water on a hot summer day, like the sweetest berry his tongue ever touched. His heart burst like a firework and it sent embers all over his body. His hands hesitantly reached out and he could feel her blonde curls brush against his fingers. His free hand slowly traveled up the whirlwind of hair until it came beneath her chin. Light as butterfly wings, his fingers stroked her skin, soft and smooth like crape.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but it was long enough that, when they broke apart with a light smack of their lips, it felt like she drained all the air out of his lungs, like all the Hamon was now gone. He let out a breathless chuckle and pressed his forehead against hers, grinning.

"So, is that a yes?"

She grinned back, though it was tight-lipped. "Only if you come inside and let me bandage you up."

He laughed and let her help him stand back up. "Well, since you put it like that…"

They took a few steps forward before Jonathan halted. "Wait."

"No, Jonathan. Whatever you're thinking, no."

"I promise this is the last thing."

An annoyed moan escaped her as she sluggishly faced him again. "I said—"

He plucked the ring out of its cushioned seat. "You'll be disrespecting my late mother if you don't wear this."

"Your mother would've knocked you over the head for staying out here instead of coming inside—"

He chuckled and gave her a smile that he knew she liked very much. "Please, Erina? For me?"

With one raised eyebrow, she stared at him and then huffed again, placing a limp hand between them, palm up.

"Thank you, darling." He turned her hand around and then slid the ring onto her finger, which was nearly a perfect fit. He pressed a firm kiss to her knuckles.

"Alright, you may stick needles in me now."

She wrapped his arm around the back of her neck. "Maybe a few knives as well?"

"I love you too."

She shook her head, but he saw the faint smile crease her tulip-like lips.

Jonathan's father might've been right: perhaps he and Erina were meant to be, just not meant to last.

I did have many friends when I was young, but I wouldn't understand what a true friend was until I grew older.

He enjoyed those boxing matches and lacrosse games he took part in with the neighborhood boys. He enjoyed sports in general—the dull ache in his arms, the rapid beating of his heart, it was a kind of thrill that he couldn't get anywhere else—but he treasured the moments spent with those around him more.

Little boys have a strange desire for danger and tests of strength, challenging themselves and others to see how far is too far. From the ripe age of nine all the way to twenty, boys would urge Jonathan to lift something heavy or dare one another to beat him in a race. "Go get it, JoJo!" they would yell in their youthful, cracking voices. "Look at him go! He's invincible!"

He couldn't help but laugh when they screamed and playfully hit one another when he'd win yet another match or keep on punching despite bloody knuckles. They'd ruffle his hair, pounce on his shoulders, lift his arms in the air and declare to all Jonathan's unbeatable record. Nothing ceased to amaze them, it seemed.

The compliments surged waves of confidence within him, and he liked seeing them astounded, but nothing much stemmed from those playground battles. Sure, from time to time, he would join them for walks downtown or hang out by the river and let their adolescent minds ramble about whatever they wished. But most of the time, they were only interested in Jonathan's physical strength than they were about his hobbies or thoughts or sense of character. When he was young, he was naive and let the praises go to his head, thinking that this was the way to win friends. But as he matured, he realized he was more of a display case of "manhood" to their eyes. He couldn't say no to their requests—"just one more match, JoJo!" or "can you lift that boulder, JoJo?"—but he knew better than to ask them to be a part of his life when he knew they didn't have any desire to.

The only definite friends he had growing up was Danny and Erina. Everyone else was only another face in the gawking crowd.

When he first met Robert Speedwagon, he didn't have any intention of starting a friendship with him. His primary concern was his dying father and getting that medicine to him as quickly as possible. He knew the risks of travelling that infamous road of London, he knew the gruesome murders of women happening in that very area, he knew he shouldn't trust any who approached him that night, especially in that place. Yet he knew those men who roamed the darkened streets had lives, possibly families who would grieve for them should anything happen to their brother, husband, father, or son.

Speedwagon and those other men meant him harm that night, but Jonathan never wished to reverse that intention back on them. Everyone deserves a second chance; everyone deserves mercy every once in a while.

He remembered Speedwagon being bewildered by Jonathan's morality. He was so perplexed that he hadn't left his side since. Speedwagon reminded him of those neighborhood kids in a way: completely engrossed by him that he had to watch every move he made as if to make sure that he was indeed real. Except he wasn't solely focused on his enormous arms or ability to snap branches off from trees. Speedwagon was curious about him, about Jonathan Joestar, where he came from and where he was going.

Jonathan smiled and lent a hand. Everyone deserves a second chance.

They met up a few days later and Jonathan truthfully answered any question Speedwagon had for him. "Wait, so you don't exercise all the time or learn martial arts for the sake of protecting yourself? You know, just in case someone wants to hurt you?"

"No. It's never my intention to hurt people, even if they wish to cause me harm." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I only look like this because I genuinely enjoy physical activity like football and boxing."

He raised one of his thick eyebrows and then looked ahead. "Hm."

Jonathan smiled, knowing where his train of thought was going. "Hm?"

"People don't exercise for fun, mate. That's the first time I've heard such nonsense."

He laughed. "I've gotten that all my life. I suppose I am strange, aren't I?"

"You're definitely something else."

Jonathan peeked at the long, zagged scar that covered half of Speedwagon's face. Dark pink flesh in the shape of a lightning strike. He tried not looking at it (he got stares too, and even though he didn't find it offensive, he knew others would be if the tables had turned), but Speedwagon must've felt his eyes, for he tapped his cheekbone and said, "I've had this forever. Got in a knife fight over something I don't remember anymore. One of them managed to get me right in the face. I think it was seventeen—no, eighteen stitches."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Jonathan said, a little flustered. "I didn't mean to—"

"Nah, everyone asks. I've learned to get over the stares."

An awkward yet short silence washed over them before Speedwagon turned to look at him again. "You're not like the others, you know."

He blinked. "The others?"

"Yeah, rich folks. All those fancy suited bastards who live in their big, nice houses up on Rich People Hill. I've always detested those kinds of folks. I've lived off scraps my entire existence and had to fight just to survive. I've almost forgotten what kindness was like; nobody is a good person on Ogre Street. We're all just swimming in darkness, looking for a way out but end up drowning anyway."

Jonathan frowned. "I'm sorry you've had those experiences. I see the pain evident in your eyes, and I wish there was something I could do to take it away."

Speedwagon stared at him, much longer than necessary. Jonathan smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But I promise there are going to be brighter days ahead. Trust me, it'll be alright."

His eyes flicked to his hand, to his mouth, and then to his eyes before quickly looking away. He pulled his hat forward. "You're a bizarre man."

Jonathan laughed again. "So I've been told."

Speedwagon's greatest qualities, Jonathan came to learn, was his loyalty and bravery. He carried a cloud of extreme anxiety wherever he went. It wasn't obvious at first, but the more he came to know him, Jonathan realized he was nervous over just about everything, yet he never said anything aloud.

Out of nervousness, he would pick at his fingernails until they bled and chew on his bottom lip until the flesh became as clear and wet as thin cucumber slices. It was considered a small miracle that Speedwagon even had nails and lips, he did this so often. He also had a particular way of moving around. It was almost ritualistic, but there wasn't any point to it, and might even slow him down. He would move things one at a time instead of all at once or perform tasks in a specific order instead of doing them out of convenience. Speedwagon had a special way of thinking, a way that he couldn't seem to get out of.

These habits didn't bother Jonathan, but it did worry him to see Speedwagon so uneasy at all times, to the point where he was subconsciously hurting himself.

One time, Jonathan placed a tender hand on his forearm when he went to peel off another layer of skin from his lip.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Speedwagon blinked at him, fingers pinched at the corner of his lip. "Huh?"

"It's just you seem nervous, all the time. What's bothering you? How can I help?"

He sighed sadly and then switched to scratching at his jaw. "There's nothing you can do. I've felt this way for as long as I can remember."

He paused. "Does it make you uncomfortable talking about it?"

Speedwagon hesitated too. "Normally it does, but…even though we've known each other for only a couple weeks, I-I feel like I can talk to you about anything." He said this with a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

Jonathan smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way. I'm always listening, you know. If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to let me know."

Speedwagon tried yet failed to hide his face from him by rubbing his eye or tugging on his hat. "You're too nice, mate. Way too nice. That trait is gonna be the death of you someday."

"That's alright. As long as my death isn't in vain, that'll be fine."

Speedwagon gave him another baffled look; they came so often and were so dramatic that Jonathan couldn't help but snicker. "Hey, now. I didn't say it was okay to get yourself killed for the sake of someone else."

"And I didn't say I wanted to—"

"No, hold on." Speedwagon hopped up and jammed a finger in Jonathan's face. "I don't get you, JoJo, and I don't know if I ever will, but don't go around doing anything for anyone. Not everyone deserves what you're willing to give. Someone needs to watch you before you give yourself up for an unworthy cause, and I have no choice but to do just that. Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna make sure you don't die!"

Jonathan smirked. "Is this the same Speedwagon that tried to kill me on Ogre Street?"

"In my defense, I panicked. You're huge, mate, and I didn't know what else to do."

And he did just that. As the threat of Dio increased with each passing day, Speedwagon kept his promise and nailed himself to Jonathan's side, despite the ever-growing fear in his gut and all the supernatural factors revealing themselves. His little habits never went away, but he did what terrified him the most, and that Jonathan deeply respected and celebrated him for.

The Baron Zeppeli also was strong in loyalty and bravery, but his personality traits were nearly opposite to that of Speedwagon's. He had no qualms about taking massive risks, he was very calm yet extremely concentrated, and, on certain levels, he could be more theatrical than Speedwagon.

With a neatly trimmed mustache and brightly colored suits, Zeppeli appeared like a character out of one of those fairytales Erina enjoyed reading; Jonathan had never seen anyone like him. He spoke with a thick Italian accent and often swapped between English and Italian whenever he was excited. He insisted on wearing that tall, checkered hat, no matter how inconvenient it may have seemed. His personality couldn't seem to settle either—one moment he was calm and relaxed, focusing on the little things like how the peonies tilted in the breeze, and then the next, he was ranting in a loud, prosperous voice on how Jonathan was messing up his Hamon.

Strange as he might appear, his heart was as strong as iron, unbreakable, shatterproof. He took responsibility well and did what was right, no matter what. Jonathan couldn't help but looking up to him; he hoped his confidence was as bright as Zeppeli's.

Sometimes Speedwagon and Zeppeli's characteristics clashed; they failed to understand one another but still tried, like how real friends do. He remembered once practicing Hamon with Zeppeli and with Speedwagon watching nearby (he would occasionally join in taking deep breaths and waving his arms, but nothing really came of it, and he eventually gave up).

Zeppeli, previously in a fighting stance, straightened up with the rapid flexibility of an elastic band. "Alright, amigos. It's time for a break."

Jonathan, sweating bullets and quickly running out of breath, collapsed where he stood and let the cool autumn gust chill his skin. He panted freely without the distant fear of Zeppeli smacking him across the head. His fingers absentmindedly tangled with the prickly grass beneath him. God, was this tiring work.

From behind him, he heard faint clapping. "Nice work, JoJo!" came Speedwagon's gruff yet cheerful voice. "You're getting the hang of it!"

Jonathan merely stuck a thumbs-up in the air before shielding his arms over his face. He cringed at the heavy perspiration radiating from himself and he lowered his arms again, running his hands down his cheeks. He needed to take a bath before meeting up with Erina tonight.

"So, what am I doing wrong?" Speedwagon asked Zeppeli. "Didn't you say everyone has a little bit of Hamon in them? Why can't I conjure it?"

"You breathe like a hog, Mr. Speedwagon. That's why you can't conjure anything."

"What? But why—"

"And though it may be true that the Ripple flows through all, not everyone has the strength or patience to carry it. In short, you're weaker than most."

"Hey, that's not—"

"Your nose is small, so much so that you need to breathe through your mouth when you eat. Your body isn't equipped to handle the Ripple. I cannot help you."

"You do the same thing! You're doing it right now!"

Jonathan weakly rolled onto his stomach and peered at those two just up the hill. Zeppeli was sitting next to a woven basket that he brought along, munching on a sandwich while Speedwagon was trying to grab said sandwich out of his grasp. Zeppeli was easily dodging his attacks. They talked over one another, Speedwagon insisting that Zeppeli was just a selfish bastard who didn't want to teach him while Zeppeli didn't deny nor agree with him, simply repeating "I cannot help you".

Speedwagon then knocked off Zeppeli's hat and Zeppeli, naturally, reacted severely. His hand sparked as if the sun were growing between his fingers and the sound that emitted from it was like hearing two electrical wires intertwine, like something greater was about to erupt. He then tapped Speedwagon's chest, flinging him backwards. Jonathan jerked up in response while Zeppeli placed his hat back on his head, the sparks in his hands dying down.

Luckily Speedwagon didn't seem hurt, just mad. He sat up and flung some dirt in Zeppeli's direction. "You son of a bitch!"

Zeppeli ignored him and took another bite out his sandwich. "I said I cannot help you, amigo," he mumbled through his food.

"No shit, Sherlock! The person you need to help the most is yourself! Have some fucking respect and manners, you lunatic."

Speedwagon got on his feet and dusted off the specks of mud and autumn leaves. Zeppeli crossed his legs and peered into the horizon as if nothing happened. Jonathan wasn't sure what in particular caused it, but he let out a loud snort, slapping a hand over his mouth when the two looked at him.

"Don't encourage him," Speedwagon said firmly, pointing a finger at Jonathan.

Fighting a smile, Jonathan got on his knees and raised in his hands in surrender. "I'm doing no such thing."

"Yes, you are. Laughing makes him think that it's okay to tase people. Don't fucking laugh, mate."

"It is quite amusing to see you upset," Zeppeli added unhelpfully. The tips of his mustache tilted up as he grinned at Speedwagon. "And why does he get to be called 'mate' while I get 'son of a bitch?'"

"Because that's what you are. You don't deserve the privilege of being called 'mate.'"

"I just called you 'amigo'. That means friend in—"

"I don't care, Zeppelin—"

"It's Zeppeli—"

"Again, I don't care."

Another snort escaped Jonathan, and this time, he couldn't hold back his giggles. Again, he clasped his hands over his mouth at the nasty look Speedwagon threw at him.

"Why are you laughing? You think me getting hurt is funny?"

Even Zeppeli chuckled as he raised a finger. "I do."

"Shut your mouth."

Jonathan got on his feet, the soreness in his calves and thighs pulsing but he paid no mind. "Of course not," he laughed.

"Then why are you laughing, you brute? You two Hamon-users can't keep bullying me. I'm still the only one who knows how to use a gun."

"Incorrect," Zeppeli intervened, "for I too know how—"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Jonathan walked up to Speedwagon and hugged his side, his giggles never ceasing. "I'm laughing because you're fun to be around, Robert."

Speedwagon shrunk a little in his grasp. "Ugh, no offense, but you reek. Get—"

"Excellent idea, JoJo." Zeppeli sprung to his feet. "You hold him down and I'll punch."

Mumbling a quick "sorry" to Speedwagon under his breath, Jonathan positioned himself between the two and threw a puzzled smile at Zeppeli. "Uh, no. That's not what I planned on doing."

Even though he was grumbling under his breath, Jonathan could feel Speedwagon loosen his tightened spine through his embrace (despite smelling like a wet dog). He huffed and was about to let things go when Zeppeli piped up, "Mr. Joestar is just being polite. You're actually quite painful to be in the presence of."

Speedwagon glared. "Why, you—"

He tried spinning around and kicking Zeppeli, but Jonathan stiffened his hold on him, giving Speedwagon barely a foot of extra space. Despite Speedwagon's apparent frustration, Jonathan and Zeppeli snickered at how determined he was to beat Zeppeli, one way or another.

Those little moments between the fighting and the challenges and the piles of endless horror pushed Jonathan the most. They made him want to live and beat the curse of the fold, at the thought of crumbling beneath the pressure and letting Dio win. But, if there was one thing that his brother was, he was persistent to get what he wanted, no matter the lives that it would cost. Yet Jonathan never really knew what he wanted until it was too late.

When I was young, I had a hard time accepting Dio as my brother.

When George told Jonathan that he would soon be getting an adoptive brother, he was excited. He'd been an only child up until that point, and he thought it would be lovely to have a younger brother or sister, someone to play with or introduce the world to. He did have Danny, his loyal dog, but there was something about a sibling that seemed adventuresome.

He could already picture him and this Dio Brando doing brotherly things together like playing fetch with Danny or racing each other to the carriage or playing card games on the steps of the Joestar Manor. He would show him around the manor, his favorite places in London, and to his friends. The whole concept was thrilling to him, and he couldn't wait for him to arrive.

But it seemed from the moment Dio laid eyes on him, he hated him and did everything possible to make Jonathan's life harder.

That was rather a bold statement to make, especially at such a young age when everything seemed bigger than what it actually was to the unexperienced eye. But Jonathan saw no reason as to why Dio insisted on pulling various stunts to make him upset. Sometimes they were big, sometimes they were small. He did things like manipulating the neighborhood kids into thinking Jonathan was never really their true friend, but he also flicked his pencil against Jonathan's ear until he couldn't take it anymore and bark at him.

George constantly reminded him that Dio came an unprivileged place, where poverty was common and dangerous people often crossed his home's threshold, so he shouldn't treat Dio so poorly. Jonathan bit his bottom lip. Yes, it was a shame that Dio had to grow up in such a neighborhood, but that didn't give him an excuse to literally kick his dog around like he was a punching bag.

In fact, George had these talks with him so often that Jonathan, from time to time, believed that he might actually love Dio more than his own son, his own flesh and blood.

But still, Jonathan tried to love Dio, or at least give him chances to prove that he wasn't as hateful as he thought he was. But Dio definitely made it difficult.

They got into a lot of fistfights when they first met; sometimes they were awfully harsh, leaving one another with blood on their collars and splotches of purple upon their knuckles. Dio's eyes were permanently set into sharp daggers whenever they landed upon him, and Jonathan threw angered glares right back. Once the leg of an armchair was broken off in the midst of their battles and a family picture fell from its place on the wall when Jonathan slammed Dio into it.

Jonathan didn't enjoy these moments at all; he didn't want to fight Dio, but the things he did and the things he said were unacceptable. This wasn't how siblings acted, or at least that's what he thought. They were supposed to protect each other, not constantly attack and ridicule the other. But he couldn't just give up, he couldn't let Dio break him, so he held on to the near-invisible thread that maybe, just maybe, Dio was capable of redemption.

Within a year or so, Dio began acting differently from his usual violent and short-tempered self. He became quiet, sneaky, patient, observant, thoughtful. The brawls, though still frequent, weren't as bloody as they used to be. He even looked at him differently. His face naturally rested into an annoyed stare, yes, but he no longer looked at Jonathan like he was the lowest scum on the earth. Instead, he appeared interested in him, dare he say fascinated.

He started doing things Jonathan had imagined what little brothers would do with their older siblings: copying and following them around. He became involved in things Jonathan enjoyed like sports, reading, and nature. Jonathan would sometimes even catch him standing like how he did—with his hands folded in front of him and his spine as straight as a flagpole. He didn't find it irritating, but rather amusing.

One morning, Jonathan was finishing the final knot in his tie with Dio a few feet behind him, waiting for his turn with the hallway mirror. From the corner of his eye, Jonathan spotted Dio watching Jonathan's fingers carefully before slowly wrapping a black tie around his own neck. He easily got stuck and snorted in frustration as he redid it over again.

Jonathan smirked and then turned around. "Here, this is how you do it."

He reached out before Dio could say anything and explained what he was doing as he neatly tucked the fabric around in a simple knot. He went to tug down on his collar, but Dio slapped away his hand.

"Don't fucking touch me," he growled as he stomped away.

The sudden little burst of anger disappointed Jonathan a bit, but the next morning, as he peeked into the hall from his bedroom door, he couldn't help but smile when he found Dio cautiously knotting his tie in the hallway mirror.

Dio began earning a reputation as being slick and smooth, cool and slippery like a snake. And whenever he stumbled in the slightest or was caught and tried for punishment, he grew angry out of fear. He hated not knowing what to do or being unprepared, which is understandable for someone being a very quick-minded individual and always having an extra scheme or two hidden up his sleeve.

For example, Jonathan once caught Dio in his room, looking through his journal. In fact, he found his room in a bit of a disarray, for someone who tended to be tidy and cleaned up after himself well. All of the drawers on his dresser were opened just slightly, but enough for Jonathan to notice. His closet was left ajar and some of the books on his bookcase were lying on their sides instead of sitting straight up. And there was Dio, standing by his bed (which clearly had been recently occupied, with its covers wrinkled and the pillow tossed to the side where his journal had been tucked).

"What are you doing in here?" Jonathan piped up, his voice a little sharper than what he meant it to be.

Obviously not expecting him, Dio flinched and fumbled with the book in his hands. His eyes flicked up to his, strayed for a moment, and then hesitantly dragged back down to his journal, still opened.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

"Privacy is a thing that should be respected, Dio," he responded, walking further into the room. "If you wanted to come in, you could've just asked, instead of sneaking in here and rummaging through my things. I would've said yes."

Dio didn't reply, but just went on reading his journal as though it were one of George's books in their grand library. It didn't bother Jonathan that he was reading it, however, for he didn't have anything to hide. Its contents were more of a captain's log rather than a diary. The worse thing Dio could find out from that was how much he missed Danny or his father's newest discovery from overseas or other things that Dio probably already knew.

Jonathan waited for an answer, for something, but he eventually sighed and looked at Dio sadly, stretching out a hand. "Can I please have my journal back?"

Again, he did nothing and, the longer he stood there, engrossed in his journal, the stranger the situation became. Is that why he came into his room? What did he want to know? Was he looking for something in particular?

He took a step forward. "Dio—"

Snorting irritably, Dio shut the journal and then tossed it with a careless flick onto his bed, the book bouncing off and hitting the floor. "Why do I bother?" he then muttered under his breath. "You're completely and utterly boring. You're so simplistic, it's almost painful."

He then bowed his head and went to storm away, but Jonathan caught his elbow before he could get away again. "Dio, why were you in here? What are you looking for?"

Dio, not looking at him, tried wiggling out of his grasp. "Get your hands off me. I'll slice your belly open if you don't let go."

Threats like that became so common from Dio that Jonathan was hardly fazed by them anymore. Now a little annoyed, Jonathan's blocky eyebrows furrowed as he frowned down at him. "Why were you reading my journal, Dio?"

This time, Dio did look up and Jonathan was surprised to see his cheeks a little blushed as if he just came inside from a raging blizzard. He thought he was embarrassed or flustered, but everything else about his angular face radiated with rage. His speech was even stuttered: "I don't have to tell you anything, Joestar. You're just a rich little bastard boy who doesn't know anything about the real world. Now let me go."

Dio ripped his arm away and then marched out of Jonathan's room, slamming his door close as if just to prove that he was, indeed, angry. Jonathan stared at the wooden door, confused. What was that? Jonathan knew when Dio was angry, and that wasn't it. That was something else, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Humiliation at being caught? Puzzled by Jonathan's calm reaction? But, most importantly, did Dio find what he came for and, if so, what exactly was it?

Despite living with him for half his life, Jonathan knew little to nothing about Dio as a person. He knew what he was, but not who. He didn't know the little things that made up a human being like hobbies or passions or fears. Jonathan knew that George's favorite fruit was cucumbers, he tended to be a night owl, and hated the smell of fresh paint. He knew Erina loved reading poetry and fairytales, she was a very talented pianist, and primroses were her favorite flower.

But Jonathan had to really rack his brain to figure out Dio's interests or dislikes. He never really saw him do anything for fun or outwardly express his love or hate for something. Sure, Dio played football and read the same books Jonathan did, but he didn't seem to particularly enjoy it. It appeared like he did everything for some unknown reason; nothing happened just because.

He did catch a flicker of curiosity glaze across his stare when the Joestars and Pendletons went an art gallery exhibit featuring Egyptian discoveries. He would carefully read the informative plaques next to the sculptures and potteries, and then closely observe the many symbols engraved into the artwork as though he were witnessing a chemical reaction in a lab. He was most fascinated with the mummy of a lesser-known king sitting in the middle of the room; he observed it from every angle and, frankly, it made Jonathan a little happy to see him for once taking interest in something. Maybe one day he would pursue a career in archaeology or in Egyptian history or maybe become an artist himself.

Dio always left him on his toes, however; there was no predicting what he would do next. At one moment, Jonathan thought they made some headway, and he was finally starting to warm up to him, and then the next Dio would perform some cruel little act and break Jonathan's confidence in him all over again.

He would help around the estate, assisting the servants with their daily jobs. He would provide aid to George as his health slowly started deteriorating. He would ask Jonathan (with an uncharacteristic smile on his face) if he wanted to go out for a game of football with the neighborhood kids. Jonathan couldn't help but to bring his hopes up; he was stuck in a strict morality code that there was good in everyone and maybe Dio had finally found that part of himself.

And then it all came crashing down like watching a grand, beautiful chandelier falling from the ballroom ceiling, like watching Lucifer descend from the heavens. Glistening glass on the bloodied floor, angel wings sparked with hungry flames. Hope was rare in his wake.

Burning his innocent dog alive without a second glance, ignoring its pitiful whimpers behind a simmering cage. Stealing a future precious moment from Jonathan and Erina, having the audacity to be offended when Erina tried resisting, and then smirking at the thought that Erina believed the assault was her fault. Being the poison that was gradually killing George, all while doing it with a wicked grin on his lips. These happenings would boil Jonathan's blood and bring him to his knees, weighed down by the guilt he insisted on carrying by believing in Dio, hoping, praying that he could change.

Jonathan's big, powerful hands tightly gripped Dio's collar in frustration. Dio lost a bit of his footing in the sudden action, but he didn't seem bothered by any of it.

Tears forming in the corners of his eyes, Jonathan cried through clenched teeth, "Why? Why are you doing all of this?"

He could feel his bones shaking, barely able to keep himself standing. His vision blurred like a watercolor painting, mixed with overwhelming anger and heartbreaking sorrow. He didn't understand. What was there to gain through all this bloodshed?

Dio studied him for a moment before a genuinely pleased expression crossed his features. It was like he was savoring the sight, Jonathan crumbling before him. He grinned mischievously.

"You really don't get it, do you? Ah, well, there's no point in trying to explain it to you now. You're too emotional at the—"

"End this madness, Dio!" He slammed him into a nearby wall. Somewhere behind Dio, glass rattled, but the chandelier was already broken. "Just stop! D-Don't make me abandon you…"

A little chuckle vibrated from Dio's throat. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought. Silly me for giving you enough credit to believe that you would figure this out. Isn't this what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? It's simple physics." His grin widened. "We're one and the same, don't you see? We're just on different sides of the coin. I live to see you tick and you refuse to see anyone else be tormented. Our destinies are intertwined, yet I know that's a weighty word to be throwing around." As if forgetting the fact that Jonathan had him pinned against the wall, he pinched his chin in thought, eyes glancing toward the ceiling. "Destiny. Just what and whom determines such a seemingly touchless idea?"

"You're not making any sense—"

"I am making perfect sense!" Dio's eyes snapped back to Jonathan as his right hand went to Jonathan's throat. "It's all crystal fucking clear! Why can't your pathetic little brain see that?"

Jonathan slapped away Dio's hand and then snatched a handful of his long, tangled locks. His other hand circled around Dio's throat, but he couldn't bring himself to squeeze, to tighten and tighten until his thumb couldn't feel the pulsing throbs in his neck. Instead, he just smashed the back of Dio's head against the wall again, hoping to shake some sense into him.

But of course, that didn't work; Dio was a special brand of insane. He chuckled again and grabbed Jonathan's wide chin. His abnormally long fingernails dug into his skin as if he wanted to rip off Jonathan's jaw in a splendor of blood and bone. The wide, almost obsessive look Dio gave him reminded Jonathan of a hungry lion playing with its prey before the fatal strike.

"The only way you're going to defeat me, poor confused JoJo, is if you kill me, and the same way goes for you. So, who's going to drive the stake in first? May the best man win."

Dio seemed ready to dislodge Jonathan's jaw or at least tear off his flesh, but Jonathan never once started squeezing the life out of his brother. There was a magnetic force bringing his hand back, and Jonathan let it curl into a fist and rammed his knuckles into the side of Dio's face. It was now Jonathan's turn storm away, unable to look at Dio again.

The curse of the fold was stronger around Dio, especially after that encounter. He used to be able to take Dio's endless rain of small torments, but everything seemed so much harder to deal with. Who's going to drive in the stake first? Killing Dio was the last thing he wanted to do; he wanted to believe that there was still a little boy somewhere in there, confused and afraid and searching desperately for someone to save him from his trauma. He couldn't give up on him. How could he? It was hard for him to admit it when they were younger, but Dio was his brother, and family shouldn't be left behind.

Jonathan unraveled that scene and his personal fears that came with it to Erina one day. They talked for hours, it seemed like, beginning in the quiet Pendleton living room, and then strolling many laps through their glorious garden, and then settling at the porch swing, watching the flowers and trees lightly sway in the late September breeze. As the wooden seat gently rocked them back and forth with Erina's head resting on Jonathan's shoulder, she let him play with her hands as a way of distracting himself from crying. He'd trace the veins and bones beneath her skin, tug at her bracelets, envelope her palm between his like it was the only thing in the world he could protect.

"'Who's going to drive in the stake first?'" Jonathan repeated aloud. "Why would he say that? Does he…does he want to die? Or does he want to kill me? I gave him numerous chances to come to me for anything that he was struggling with. I don't understand it. I just…why is all this happening?"

A heavy silence passed. Just as Jonathan's mind began folding into itself, Erina straightened up and curled their fingers together tightly. "Jonathan, there's something you should know about Dio."

There was a grave underbelly in her tone as if she were about to unravel some deadly secret. He looked at her uncertain eyes before she glanced back at him, a bit calmer but a little sad at the same time. A decision had been made.

"He is…Dio is completely obsessed with you. He-He is in love with you."

The porch swing came to a slow stop once Jonathan ceased to pushing effort into his heel. Jonathan's eyebrows crinkled in puzzlement, leaning toward Erina as if he misheard her. He had to. "What?"

She sighed, caressing his hand. "I know it's strange to hear, but ever since we were children, I knew Dio had this odd fascination with you. Everything he does is for you—again, I know that sounds strange."

"What makes you think that? Dio…can't be in love with me."

"I've seen the way he looks at you."

Suddenly his father's voice echoed in his head: I've seen the way you look at Miss Erina. His mother's wedding ring grew heavier in his pocket. No, that wasn't it; Erina was mistaken. Love wasn't like that, not at all. What he felt for Erina was almost the exact opposite of what he felt for Dio. If Dio was in love with him, then he wouldn't be treating him like this. Love was putting someone else's needs above yours, love was comforting them when overwhelmed or simply tired, love was compromise and solving problems together. Dio did none of those things. If anything, Dio hated him.

Erina went on: "He watches you all the time and everything he's learned came from you too. There were times when I thought he wanted to be exactly like you: he wore the same clothes, read the same books, participated in the same activities. And then I realized he was just trying to learn everything there was about you, who you are as a person. You told me yourself that he mimics all that you do, that he once broke into your room and read your journal. The only explanation I have for his obsession is that he loves you, but maybe he doesn't realize it, or he doesn't know how to process those feelings and so he lashes out in response. Even when he…" A small sigh. "Even when he forced himself upon me, I realized that he didn't do it for himself or to scare me. I remember his eyes the most—it was like he was looking right through me, like I wasn't even there. He said your name with such vigor like he couldn't wait to see you again, knowing what just happened…" She frowned and squeezed his fingers again. "I'm sorry, I just think you should know."

Jonathan said nothing for a long time, and Erina gave him the necessary time to ponder it over before eventually adding "Take from it what you will, but if Dio comes back, he needs to be stopped. He's causing way too much harm to all kinds of people. And to think…that he's doing all of this because he's madly and unconditionally in love with you…"

Erina's voice trailed off in thought. She didn't seem jealous or envious, but simply confused (although probably not as puzzled as he). Dio, after all, was anything but clear or simple.

Wanting to fix everything, wanting to ensure her safety and affection, Jonathan took his other hand and brushed the side of his finger down her smooth creamy cheek. "But I'm in love with you."

She let slip a small smile. "I know, and my heart belongs to you as well, but that won't change anything with Dio." Her smile fell away like grands of sand. "He has to be stopped, Jonathan."

That's what everyone said: Erina, Speedwagon, Zeppeli, even his dying father. There was nothing redeemable about Dio; he would not change, not for anything. Along with the pieces of his life, Jonathan thought about this as he cradled Dio's severed head in his arms. He was sorry for him, sorry that he didn't make it in time to save young Dio from morphing into the vampiric monster he'd become. He wished he could build a time machine and go back to when it wasn't too late for his brother and save him from the future of impending doom he was the cause of. Maybe then things wouldn't have come to this with Zeppeli and his father dead, with Speedwagon constantly putting himself in danger for Jonathan's sake, with leaving his poor dear Erina a widow, and with Dio letting the darkness cloud his mind.

"Maybe you were right," he mumbled to Dio as he watched Erina scramble into the coffin with the wailing infant in her arms. "Maybe our destinies are intertwined. I'm sorry things had to turn out this way; I never wanted to do this. I'm sorry you couldn't get the help you so desperately needed. But I have a strong feeling this isn't truly the end." He struggled out one last breath. "Not even death can hold our immovable and unstoppable selves."