"Frankly, it's not the first time I had to tell a grown man this but—" Speedwagon spun around and jabbed a finger at Dio. "—behave yourself."
Dio rolled his eyes. "What do you take me for, a wild animal?"
Jonathan smirked but there was a raindrop of worry that Dio would try to pull something devious or destructive, all in the comfort of the Joestar home.
October was just around the corner, which meant Jonathan had been aiding Dio for a little over three months, but ever since Dio admitted to needing help, Jonathan went to his childhood home almost every other day. They mostly talked, Dio revealing more details about his life within those walls and Jonathan teaching healthy coping mechanisms he learned from Baron Zeppeli. Dio attempted to conjure up his own Hamon through said mechanisms but—unexpectedly? unusually? fortunately?—nothing came of it.
Yet Dio managed to stay out of trouble ever since they spoke about their vulnerabilities, the core of their "safe spaces". As far as Jonathan and Speedwagon knew, he hadn't stolen anything nor tormented or harassed anyone else. The only evil he was still tied to was the drink, which could make him easily irritable and bring out his more violent side. That was a work in progress that'd probably take longer to maintain than his behavioral issues.
Nevertheless, Dio changed drastically. He wasn't perfect by any means—his natural self was mean and egotistical, but even Speedwagon acknowledged that something was shifting. He listened more, became slow to anger, noticed the flaws within himself and attempted to confront them. Jonathan couldn't help but feel proud of his brother. So much so that he regularly reported Dio's growth to Erina, emphasizing the humanity that's making its way into his mindset again.
Erina, at first, was unimpressed. Her feelings toward Dio had not altered, thus clouding her judgement. She gave Jonathan that "I'm-only-listening-because-I-must" face whenever he spoke of his brother, but over time her expression softened, became more thoughtful. Finally, she seemed considerate enough for him to ask if he could invite Dio over for tea.
Instinctively Erina tried shutting the idea down. "I distinctively remember saying that I didn't want him anywhere near our home." Jonathan replied that the event didn't have to be polite on their end—Dio would be confined to the parlor and Helena wouldn't have to greet him at the door, for Jonathan would escort Dio to and from the Brando home, never leaving his side.
"And besides," he commented unhelpfully, "Dio already knows where we live, and almost everything about me. If he truly wanted to do something, he would've tried by now."
Erina gave him a look. He added quickly, "He would've tried, not succeeded. I would've stopped him, Erina; he won't be getting in unless he's invited."
"Like a vampire?" she suggested flatly, and Jonathan sighed. He really needed to think before he spoke.
However, after a couple days of thought, Erina approached Jonathan. "Helena and I will be out shopping tomorrow; we won't be gone for longer than two hours. I want Dio out of here before we get back."
And here they were, Jonathan and Speedwagon holding Dio back by an invisible leash as they made their way to the Joestar home.
"To be honest, yes I do," Speedwagon answered Dio's question. "I've met plenty of wild things in my lifetime, but you, sir, take the cake."
Dio put a hand to his collarbone. "I'm touched that I've made such an impact on your life, Speedwagon."
Speedwagon rolled his eyes, shook his head, and looked straight ahead.
"Do you honestly relish your bad reputation?" Jonathan asked Dio.
He brushed his hair out of his eyes, which was pulled back into a loose ponytail. "I do enjoy leaving impressions on others, especially when their lives mean so little to me."
Again, Speedwagon shot him another glare and Dio, his gaze focused onward, let slip an amused grin.
Jonathan rubbed the space between his eyebrows and exhaled heavily. "Please keep your hostilities at the door, both of you. My wife is going to murder me in my sleep if she hears any threats or forms of violence from you two."
"How very ironic," Dio commented. "That's something I would like to witness." His grin widened, showing his dull yellow teeth. "I can't kill you, but the person you love the most can, and that is the best kind of murder."
Jonathan glared back, trying to ignore the pinprick of concern sitting in his chest.
Lord, please let this go smoothly.
They eventually came upon the Joestar home. The only tree that was planted on their street—a skinny little thing, so skinny that Jonathan was surprised it was still standing despite the several thunderstorms they had this summer—was in the process of losing its colorful leaves, which were littered across the walkway. Jonathan strolled up to the door first, followed by Dio and then Speedwagon.
As Jonathan fished for his keys, Speedwagon and Dio made some more comments behind his back, but Jonathan wasn't listening anymore. He peeked in through the side window and spotted Helena buttoning her coat while gazing up the staircase, probably speaking with Erina. She turned towards him when he opened the front door and stepped inside.
"Good morning," he greeted with a small smile. He then raised his eyebrows and glanced to the side, indicating who was behind him. He wondered if he appeared nervous to her at all.
Helena smiled back, reaching up and patting his cheek. "And good morning to you, Mister Joestar. This is the first time I'm seeing you today. You must've got up early."
"Yes, I had an appointment with Professor Blueford this morning about my thesis, and I've been running around since then. Quite the busy day it's been."
"That it has."
Jonathan stepped to the side, revealing a curious Dio scanning the interior of the Joestar home (something he'd wanted to do for a while, no doubt). When his eyes landed on Helena, the stout elderly woman that raised him during his teenage years, not a flicker of recognition, surprise, or any other appropriate expression washed over his face.
"Helena," Jonathan said awkwardly, "you already know Dio."
She peered up at their visitor with a judgmental yet pitied gaze. "Yes, it's been a long time, Mister Brando. I pray that you've had ample time to adjust your attitude?"
Jonathan thought he heard Speedwagon stifle a snort as he lumbered out from behind Dio and further into the hallway.
Dio sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes to the heavens. "Oh, dear Helena, how disappointed you must be to learn that I am still a nuisance. You must be just as disappointed as I am to see you still living. Aren't you supposed to be ashes by now? After all, were you not present at the crucifixion of Christ?"
Utterly offended, Jonathan snapped at his brother. "Dio! What was—?"
"Don't fret, Mister Joestar," Helena assured. "Do not let Mister Brando's actions dictate your behavior. Mister Brando is an adult and understands what he says or does will bring about consequences."
Small Helena merely stared at Dio, fastening the final button on her coat as she sidestepped him and reached for the sole jacket hanging on the coat rack by the door.
"Very wise words, indeed," Dio nodded like he was the teacher and Helena was the student who just answered his obvious or rhetorical question.
Just then, footsteps came creaking down the stairs. Jonathan glanced up to see Erina gripping the banister as she attempted to peek over her swollen belly and watch her feet take each careful step down. Her eyelids drooped in fatigue, and he could tell she was purposefully keeping her gaze trained on anything but Dio once she reached the bottom step.
"Ah, here's the lady of the household," Dio addressed with a theatrical wave of his hand. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Joestar. I don't believe we've crossed paths for quite some time—at least not face-to-face like this. I have a funny feeling that you're trying to avoid me."
He said this with that cocky grin of his, but it twitched in annoyance when he realized that she was indeed avoiding him—she moved around him accordingly and spoke a few words to all but Dio, treating him like the housecat lying wherever he so desired.
Jonathan observed the irritated look in his eye. It was like he just missed an important train departure or forgot an urgent appointment—not enough to consume himself in a raging fire, but enough to ruin his mood. Apparently, Erina could make Dio tick in ways no one else could.
Surely out of spite, Dio put his hands on his hips and looked Erina up and down. "I see you've put on some weight." He raised his eyebrows. "It's not a good look for you, darling."
Jonathan snapped a shocked yet disgusted scowl at him, completely forgetting what Helena said a moment ago. "Do you want to be thrown out? Take back what you said, or you leave me no choice!"
As Dio again rolled his eyes in utter annoyance at Jonathan, Erina cupped the underside of her heavily pregnant belly and finally turned to Dio. Her stare wasn't offended as one would expect, but rather calm, stern even. And then, swift as a rabbit darting across a field, her free hand flew and smacked the side of Dio's face as hard as she could.
The sound was like thunder in the small, crowded hallway. Jonathan flinched when Dio's head snapped to the side. For a moment, Jonathan was just as surprised as everyone else, but then a sense of pride spread across his chest, similar to a burst of happiness or love.
That's my wife.
"That's for what you did to me as a girl," she hissed, "and for everything you've ever done to Jonathan." She then breathed deeply as if an elephant took one of its feet off her chest and turned back to Helena. "Ready?"
Helena blinked back into existence. "Y-Yes, Mrs. Joestar."
Helena picked up the bag next to the door, Erina bowed her head in departure at Speedwagon (she merely gave Jonathan a look that read "this better be worth it"), and the two women exited the home promptly.
"Bloody hell," Speedwagon chuckled.
Jonathan couldn't hide his smile when Dio's disgruntled face turned toward him. "Brilliant, isn't she?"
"Just as stiff-necked as I remember." He cracked his neck with a simple twist and then smirked. "She has more strength in her than you ever did."
"I know, isn't she grand?"
Jonathan made a quick pot of tea (which ended up not being his best), and the three men settled in the parlor. Though a bit awkward at times, Jonathan kept the conversation going and made sure no hostility was thrown between the blonds. Dio pointed out the tacky wallpaper, Speedwagon protested that it looked lovely, and he brought up the subject of Aztecan rituals because that was all he could think to say. He thought it was safe to assume that those two might never get along.
Roughly forty-five minutes later, Speedwagon announced that he must be on his way—he had another shift at the factory. Jonathan got up and followed him to the front door, thanking him for his time.
"Of course, anytime," he replied. He then glared at him and lowered his voice. "You let me know if that bastard gives you any trouble, alright?"
Jonathan smiled tightly. "Alright. Try not worry, though—I'm positive things will be okay."
"I'm serious. Even if he gives you a nasty look, I wanna hear about it." He raised an eyebrow, a gesture that read "I'm just searching for an excuse to punch him in the throat". He took his leave, and Jonathan repressed a sigh as he shut the door.
God bless him, but Speedwagon's anxiety sometimes got the best of him.
Jonathan walked back to the parlor, gathered Speedwagon's teacup and saucer, and glanced at Dio, who was scowling as he sipped his tea. No doubt he heard Speedwagon and him whispering.
"I'll be right back," he assured, and then went to the kitchen to wash and dry Speedwagon's dishes.
After they were cleaned and put away in the cupboard, Jonathan noticed a few tea spots on the counter that he hadn't seen earlier. He cleaned that too, and searched for other messes he might've missed (both Helena and Erina would give him a stern talking-to). When he spotted nothing else, he strolled back to the parlor.
"I apologize for my delay," he sighed as he slumped back into his armchair. "If I don't clean up the mess right now, then I'll certainly forget to later."
He found Dio glaring at him intensely, more so than usual. He frowned in response. "What now?"
"Was that a test or something?"
"What was?"
"That." His chin jerked in the direction of the kitchen. "You were gone for nearly fifteen minutes. Were you waiting for me to burn this house down as well?"
Jonathan looked around the room, puzzled. Had he really been gone for fifteen minutes? Nothing seemed out of place here, as far as he could tell.
"I wasn't testing you," he told Dio. "I have enough faith that you won't do something disastrous in the two seconds I have my back turned."
Again, Dio's glare intensified—it was like he was staring directly at the sun. When Jonathan didn't provide a different response, Dio got up from his seat and sauntered deeper into the parlor, his footsteps slow in thought. His gaze aimed at the piano and then lingered at the portrait on the wall beside it, the one with Jonathan and Dio as children crowding around George.
"'Have enough faith,'" Dio echoed under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and said, "Where did you get that crazy idea from, JoJo?"
Jonathan blinked, still confused. "From the last several weeks? I've noticed how much you've changed, so, naturally, I wanted to bring you here."
"To test me?" Dio asked again, and Jonathan couldn't hold back another sigh.
"No, Dio, I'm not testing you. I brought you here because I wanted to show my wife and practically my second mother that you're not as terrible as everyone believes you to be, including yourself. If I didn't trust you to some extent, I never would've invited you here in the first place."
"And how's that working out for you? It seemed to me that they thought dreadful of my presence." He said this with an air of arrogance, a sly smirk lacing his lips like powdered sugar.
"You really enjoy your bad reputation, don't you? Or do you just like seeing me frustrated?" He held up a hand. "Don't answer that; I already know the answer."
Dio left it at that. He surveyed the parlor again, seemingly out of boredom, yet he kept looking back at the portrait upon the wall. Finally, he said something: "I hate that picture."
Jonathan glanced at it for the thousandth time in his life. George sat up straight with that proud-to-be-a-father atmosphere he always carried, and Jonathan recognized his own I'm-merely-doing-this-because-my-father-told-me-to babyface. But this time, he studied twelve-year-old Dio, perhaps deeper than ever before.
Knowing what he knew now, Jonathan could see the grief clear as day in Dio's eyes, though greed and anger shined brightly too. Back then, he thought Dio had some vendetta against him with an unknown origin, but now, he understood (as much as he could) his brother had been undergoing many changes during that period of their lives, all while searching for a time and place to properly mourn his mother.
"It's not the best, I'll admit," he confessed, "but it's all I have of my childhood home. I would compare its significance to your mother's wedding dress, in regard to personal possessions and the memories behind them." He smiled slightly. "It holds a special kind of endearment for me."
Dio glanced at Jonathan, back to the portrait, and stared without comment for a long time. He then spun around and settled into his chair once more. He supped his tea again, his face scrunching in displeasure.
"This tastes like shit."
Jonathan chuckled quietly. Even when stumped, Dio always had to have the last laugh.
As time marched on, Dio was invited to the Joestar household more often (with no escorts needed). Not once did he do the things everyone thought he would: steal their possessions, damage their property, hurt someone. Jonathan might as well bring home a wild boar. Yet all Dio did was complain and throw petty insults; he was more like a grumpy old man rather than some dangerous animal.
Though Speedwagon still didn't try to like or accept Dio as anything more than an acquaintance, he couldn't deny that Dio was the same man they first encountered in that haunted house. Helena, who also watched Dio grow up, eventually caved into her motherly instincts and began treating him like she used to.
Even Erina came around to accept this new Dio (though purely for Jonathan's sake, which he was entirely grateful for). She no longer retreated whenever he was present, and she observed his languages—body, vocal, and mind—to find that the brute she loathed was nothing more than a grain of sand. Naturally, she was suspicious at first; the sins that Dio committed still clouded her view of him.
"What did you do to him?" she asked Jonathan in private. "He's like another person."
He smiled. "Nothing. I just lent an ear."
Dio developed interest in Jonathan's university life. He paged through his textbooks and peeked at his cluttered notes. When Jonathan showed him the stone mask and his thesis paper thus far, Dio became mightily intrigued, much more than he thought he would. He held the mask with both hands like the priceless artifact it was, turning it this way and that with the eyes of a child seeing the world for the first time.
It was only when Dio asked if he possessed any Egyptian artifacts did Jonathan recall his brother's fascination with the African country. The Joestar family once visited an exhibit of Egyptian art at the British Museum. Jonathan, naturally, was drawn in, having always been attracted to archaeological finds around the world. Dio was struck with wonder as well, which was something noteworthy—Jonathan had believed, at the time, that Dio's sole interest was ruining Jonathan's life.
Dio took in every little thing at the exhibit that day; usually Jonathan had to wait for his father to finish reading each plaque before moving to the next section, but now he was watching Dio forget that they were still in London, England. Like a sponge, Dio absorbed everything about Egypt: culture, history, architecture, medicine, politics, mythology, military, geography. After George and Jonathan had to practically drag him away from the open sarcophagus of a lesser-known king and the statue of the death god Anubis, Dio immediately scavenged the Joestar library for anything that mentioned Egypt.
Jonathan thought about this while he watched Professor Blueford read over the rough draft of his thesis paper.
Blueford kept a monotone composure as he flipped through another page. He always carried such an aura—serious, strict, a bit judgmental—which made first impressions with students (and others) uncomfortable. Jonathan had to admit that he was intimidated by his professor's unwelcoming atmosphere, but after showing up for class every day, turning in his assignments on time, and participating in class discussions, Blueford became more approachable.
Without looking up, he mumbled, "So you believe that the mask originated in central Mexico during the mid to late fifteenth century and played a role in either a sacrificial ritual for a particular god or a device used for torture on prisoners who committed certain crimes."
By his tone of voice, Jonathan thought Blueford was making a statement. It wasn't until his professor peered at him through his small glasses that he realized it'd been a question.
He straightened up and offered a small nod. "Yes, sir. As dark and troubling as it may be, I do believe this to be true."
Blueford shuffled his papers back in order. "Well, Mister Joestar, I must admit I am pleasantly surprised. You've managed to discover the essence of the artifact without much guidance from my end—I recall only a simple book recommendation. Well done on your first draft, but it's called a 'draft' for a reason…"
He then took out a ballpoint pen and began marking the papers, instructing Jonathan on how to improve. This was very much like his professor—he recognized good work when he saw it, yet he always saw room for betterment. Jonathan only listened to half of what Blueford was saying, however, for his mind remained heavy with Dio and his future.
Once there came along a pause in Blueford's dialogue, Jonathan spoke up: "Professor, if you don't mind, I have an inquiry about something unrelated."
Blueford said nothing, just stared at him which prompted Jonathan to continue: "Do you teach Egyptian history as well? Or do you know someone else in the university who does?"
"I do not know enough African history to teach an entire course on it; I only specialize in Latin American and European history. The university does have a class on Egyptian history, however, the only professor who conducts it is currently teaching abroad."
"I see."
"Developing an interest for 'the Land of the Pharaohs?'"
"Not particularly. Just asking for someone I know."
After his session with Blueford came to an end, he stood out in the hall, contemplating. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders, walked to the university's library, and checked out a few books. He showed Dio these the next time he came over.
His blond eyebrows furrowed deeper as he shuffled through each title. "What are these?"
"They're books about various subjects regarding Egypt."
Dio shot him an irritated glare. "I can see that, imbecilic bull calf. Must I be specific and ask 'why are you giving me these? I snuck into your office once, and I didn't see any of these lining your bookshelves.'"
Jonathan sighed quietly. Of course he snuck into his office; he'd have to double-check that everything was still there. "I checked these out at the university's library. I was thinking that you'd like to turn this into a career—I know you enjoy this subject immensely. You could be a teacher or an architect like me. I figured this could be a good start to rebuild your education."
He arched an eyebrow. "You believe this subject should form my career?"
An earnest nod. "You should do what you love, right?"
"Wrong." He dramatically shut the book of Egyptian mythology he was flipping through. "If you do what you love for a career, your love for it will cease to exist and your career will demote to a job. To make money, one must discover something they master at and don't entirely loathe doing, because this world will try to rob you of every ounce of happiness."
Jonathan blinked at the negative response. "Okay…then what is it you wish to do?"
"I was studying law whilst you wanted to dig through dirt for a living."
"Yes, but I wasn't certain that you liked it—"
"Well now you are aware of my philosophy."
"I suppose you've always liked arguing." He held out his hands. "I'll take those books back if you aren't going to—"
"I never said I wouldn't read them." With that, Dio gathered the hardcovers and went to find a quiet corner to settle in.
More time passed, November emerging with light snowfall and early Christmas carols. Jonathan, Dio, and Erina resided within the study. Dio was sitting by the window with a book in his nose (this one about death rituals and mummification) and Jonathan was rewriting his thesis paper for the umpteenth time (the stone mask had been returned to Blueford at this point).
Erina stood by the bookcase at the far left, tying a bow with red ribbon for the upcoming holiday, which were speckled around the home. Once she tightened the final knot, she closed her eyes, hung her head, and placed her hands at the small of her back, the weight of a full-term infant taking its toll on her body.
Jonathan glanced up when she exhaled deeply, almost painfully. "Erina, darling, you don't need to be doing all this. You've been feeling tired all day."
"I want to do this," Erina grumbled. Her eyes opened as her head fell in his direction.
She was aggravated (and had been often as of recently). Her gaze would grow hard and cold like steel, and her jaw would clench itself so tightly that Jonathan worried she might be doing damage to her teeth. By many, Erina was often compared to a tulip or a rose—so soft-spoken and gentle was she. By those who truly knew her, Erina could be as unforgiving as deadly nightshade.
Jonathan gave her an insistent look, meeting her sharp stare. "Helena can pick up where you started if that makes—"
"I said I want to do this, Jonathan." She turned back to the box of Christmas decorations in front of her, fishing through it hastily. "I'm tired of always letting you and Helena do everything for me. I want to do something productive."
When she failed to find what she was searching for, she gripped the sides of the box and walked out the room, eyes locked straight ahead.
Goodness, she was furious.
A snort escaped Dio. "You handled her with such grace."
Jonathan resisted the urge to roll his eyes (an ugly habit he picked up around his brother). "You don't 'handle' people, Dio."
"Of course you can. How else will people learn?" He shut his book and ran a hand through his hair (which Erina graciously cut for him, fixing his raggedy look to the clean-shaven, sophisticated man he was before).
Jonathan finished writing his note before glancing up. "Have you turned in your application for university yet? Or began looking for a job somewhere?"
"You're not my dead mother, JoJo. Speaking of, how's that business of Speedwagon's coming along? Nowhere, is that right? It's probably because he hasn't recruited someone like me, someone who can beat him into action."
"You know Robert won't hire you."
Dio's face scrunched in secondhand embarrassment at Jonathan's inability to detect sarcasm. "You're dafter than I thought."
Jonathan capped his pen just as Dio stood up. "This isn't about Robert nor myself," he stated. "You need to go somewhere with your life, Dio, make something of yourself. I can only take you so far—you have to put in effort as well."
"Save the lecture for your future child—they'll need it more than I do."
Dio sauntered toward the threshold of the study, but Jonathan wasn't finished yet. He tossed his pen onto the desk and stood up, following him.
"I'm serious, Dio. You need to do something. Find a skill, find a passion. What exactly do you want to do? I thought you were interested in studies of ancient Egypt, but you mentioned law—"
"What part of 'save the lecture' is incomprehensible to you?" Dio shot a scowl. "I don't need to hear nor do what you say. I shall live as I so please."
"So, you wish to suffer in vain?"
"The only needless suffering I'm enduring is hearing you speak."
Jonathan held out his hands in defense. "I'm trying to help you, Dio. I have been helping you."
"Yet I still decide how things go. Funny how the power dynamics works in this relationship."
Frustration boiled in his gut the more Dio became dismissive. For a moment, they were children again, stubborn personalities clashing and getting nowhere. He opened his mouth, but his words were cut off by the sound of light shattering emitting from the other room.
His eyes peered past the threshold but couldn't spot any cause for the noise right away. He glanced at Dio once more, who'd been glaring at him the whole time. Jonathan swallowed the insults bubbling on his tongue like spiked cider and went to see what just broke.
He stepped into the hall and looked down it. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He turned toward the parlor across the way. No broken mess laid upon the floor. He pursed his lips as he strolled by the front door, diagonal from the stairway. It was at this stairway that he found a piece of a red glittery ornament, shaped like an apple core, sitting on the bottom step. His gaze followed the trail of red shards—red drops of blood—up the stairs until he came upon his wife in the middle of the stairway, holding a small box of ornaments, staring wide-eyed below her.
Jonathan put a hand up. "Are you alright? Don't move, I'll get the…"
His sentence fell away. Something was wrong, more wrong than a broken ornament. Erina looked panicked; though her lips were firmly pressed together, and she moved not an inch. Her stare was as wide as the ocean and as alarmed as a guard dog sniffing out an intruder.
It was then that he noticed a clear liquid coating the few steps closest to Erina as well as the front of her dress. His heart leapt to his throat when he understood what was happening.
Jonathan climbed the stairs two at a time, careful to avoid slipping on the obstacles in his path. His large hands enveloped her tiny elbows. "Erina, are you okay? Is it the—?"
"I need to get upstairs," she said simply, as though possessed by a greater power. Eyes wide and unblinking, she nudged the box against his chest. "Take this downstairs, please."
"Wha—?" He instinctively took the box. "What are you—?"
Erina turned around and sluggishly dragged herself up the stairs with one hand clutching the banister and the other cupping her big, round belly. "Someone will have to clean the stairs for me," he heard her mumble.
Jonathan whipped his head back. Dio stood by the front door, staring at them like how one couldn't help but stare at a disaster waiting to happen. And, without uttering a word, he snatched the ornament box out of Jonathan's hands and slid it across the empty table (save for a couple family photos) in the hallway. Again, without speaking, he then opened the front door and exited the home with the pace of a man going out to join his friends for tea.
In that moment, it failed to register how odd it was that Dio made no comments and actually provided some aid during the commotion. Jonathan faced his wife again, who managed to make it up two steps.
He placed his hands on her waist, to steady her, stop her, or help her he wasn't certain himself. "I-I thought you weren't due for another fortnight. W-We need to call Doctor Robinson—Helena!"
His cry bounced against the walls, but nothing else echoed back.
"It's not uncommon," Erina murmured in a strangely calm voice, "for babies to be born early." She swallowed. "Unexpected, but not uncommon."
"But there—I don't…L-Let's get you upstairs." He then threw his head to the side and yelled "Helena!"
Feeling like he wasn't doing enough, he tried carrying Erina up the stairs, but once she realized what he was doing, she growled "Don't pick me up."
"What do you need me to do?" he asked frantically. "What can I do?"
When Helena failed to show, he hollered her name once more.
"I need you to calm down, Jonathan," Erina hissed. Her tone was level yet irritated, yes, but icy fear crept in like a spider crawling through a chip in a windowpane.
He crushed his lips together into a thin white line. She was right—being nervous never helped anyone. Remembering Baron Zeppeli's words, Jonathan took a deep breath, nodding to himself.
"Right. Calm down. I can do that."
Just then, Helena came rushing around the corner, leaning over the banister. Her small mouth opened, but her eyes spoke for her as they caught sight of the situation below. "M-Mrs. Joestar! Are you alright, darling?"
"Helena," Jonathan breathed, "please take Erina to our bedroom. I need to go get Doctor Robinson." He swallowed. "I-I think her water just broke."
Erina looked up at Helena, and there must've been something in her expression, for Helena hurried toward them with a calm yet determined demeanor that Jonathan only saw a handful of times in his life.
She took one of Erina's hands and wrapped an arm around her waist, replacing Jonathan's. "Come, darling," she coaxed. "Everything's alright, you're alright."
Helena peeked over her shoulder. "Mister Joestar, once you get back with Doctor Robinson, please clean the mess on the stairs. We don't want anyone hurting themselves."
She left no room for negotiation; she guided Erina up the stairs as she murmured confident reassurances to her.
Jonathan hurriedly scooped the larger broken pieces with one hand, his fingers coated in the warm liquid dripping down the stairs. He lightly tossed the pieces onto the hall table beside the box of ornaments, and then whirled around, ready to take the two giant steps to the front door—but he didn't even make it that far.
Unexpectedly, Speedwagon burst through the doorway, his wildly distressed look matching what Jonathan was trying hard not to feel.
"Is everything alright?" Speedwagon yelled at the same time Jonathan demanded "What are you doing here?"
Speedwagon anxiously rubbed at his collarbone, panting heavily. "D-Dio showed up at my door just now. He said Erina was in labor, and mate, I know he's a compulsive liar, but, somehow, I just knew he was telling the truth. So, I ran over here."
Jonathan's eyebrows knitted together. "Dio did that?" he asked, mainly to himself.
Speedwagon's eyes flicked up the staircase behind Jonathan. "Is she alright? What do you need me to do?"
Jumping on those words as if he were grabbing important papers before they flew out an open window, Jonathan clutched Speedwagon's shoulders and demanded, "Go get Doctor Robinson. His office is on Lavendar Avenue, right across from the firehouse."
Speedwagon gave a firm nod. "Got it. I'll be right back."
With that, his dear friend bolted out the door, leaving behind a drop of gratitude in Jonathan's veins, relaxing his muscles, easing his breathing. Jonathan shut the front door and looked up the stairs, Erina and Helena's skirts disappearing around the bend.
He took another deep breath. This is it—here they come.
What little sunshine there'd been that afternoon had melted away, now revealing a coal black sky, the stars mere fragments of what they used to be in the countryside. Candles flickered around the home and, excluding his own pacing footsteps, the only sound Jonathan could hear were muffled voices and shuffling behind closed doors.
He ran his hands through his hair again. Why is it so quiet? What does that mean?
Under doctor's orders (and Erina's), Jonathan was prohibited from entering their bedroom, so he stalked the hallway right outside like an enclosed lion. His brain knew why: he would just get in the way. He had no knowledge of this process, so it made sense why he'd been kicked out.
Yet his heart begged to be let in. His wife and child were in there; he needed to know that they were healthy, safe.
He inhaled deeply for the hundredth time that day. Despite preparing for this moment, he still felt totally unprepared.
"Calm your nerves, Mister Joestar," Helena soothed, patting his bicep. "She's alright, they're both alright."
His gaze met hers. It was the same soft, mothering look she'd given him throughout his life like that time when she wiped the blood off his face after getting punched in the nose by Dio or when he sobbed into her arms after discovering Erina's sudden departure to India. It was the same look that eased his worries, that warmed his chest and made him grateful to have her beautiful soul in his life.
Another shuddering breath escaped him. "I know. Well, at least I think I should." His lips pulled back in a weak smile, but he didn't like the way it felt, so he dropped it.
"They're alright. I promise you." Helena's voice was strong and reassuring, just like her grip on his arm.
"They have to be, Jonathan."
Speedwagon glanced up from his spot on the top step of the staircase. His coat hung from the post and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows. His body fidgeted in a way that could have him mistaken as the new father and Jonathan as the supportive friend.
"You said Robinson is the best doctor on this side of the Thames," Speedwagon continued, "so surely they're in the best, capable hands, right? If that is so, then we needn't to worry, right?"
Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was the same man Jonathan met in London's most crime-ridden district who tried to kill him on sight.
Helena looked at Speedwagon, no doubt annoyed with his coping mechanisms, but Jonathan was oddly grateful for the distraction. If he couldn't help Erina, he could at least comfort Speedwagon. That would make them both feel better.
Jonathan shuffled toward his friend and then sat against the wall next to the staircase (he was much too big to settle beside Speedwagon on the steps). He sighed, tired and anxious at the same time, and, with the calmest, most genuine smile he could muster, he said simply, "You're right, Robert, Helena: there's no reason to worry. Everything is as you say. I suppose it's just the silence behind a closed door that's making my head believe the worst."
Within the quietness, he could hear a soft clinking sound from downstairs like glass settling on wood. It must've been Dio—last time Jonathan saw or heard from his brother was hours ago, out of the corner of his eye. Like a snake he slithered in between the nurses entering the Joestar household wordlessly, ducking into Jonathan's study again. Jonathan didn't question his presence at the time (he was busy bringing the medical professionals to his struggling wife), and only now did he stop to think how out-of-character Dio had been acting since Erina dropped that ornament.
"What has Dio been doing this entire time?" he eventually asked.
Speedwagon shrugged as his gaze focused somewhere down the staircase. "Haven't heard a peep out of him nearly the whole night. Last time I saw him"—here he pulled out his pocket watch—"roughly an hour ago, he was in your study reading like nothing is going on." He huffed. "I didn't know what to expect, but nothing?"
Just as Speedwagon shook his head in disappointment, Jonathan felt the need to speak up, even for Dio: "He went and told you, though, about Erina's water breaking. He knew you would come running to help…"
He trailed off and he sensed Speedwagon's eyes land on him. Was that why he did it? he pondered.
Before he could dig deeper, a door creaked open.
Jonathan whipped his head toward the sound, as did Speedwagon and Helena. Dr. Robinson peeked through the doorway of the bedroom with a small smile on his face.
"Would you like to see your son, Mister Joestar?"
A warm yet sparkling sensation bloomed from his stomach and travelled up his spine like a tree. Excitement and relief flooded his senses.
My son.
"Y-Yes, please."
Speedwagon stood up with Jonathan, letting him cross in front of him. Helena gave him her soft, motherly gaze as she stepped to the side. He followed the doctor into the room.
A dozen candles illuminated the space just like the rest of the house. Sweat and iron hung in the air like the smell of rain after a storm. The nurses that accompanied Robinson quietly moved to and fro, carrying bowls and bloodied rags. Jonathan tore his eyes away from their soiled hands, and redirected them toward the bed, his light at the end of the tunnel.
Upon the sight of Erina, his heart ceased pumping anxiety through his veins. She laid in the middle of the bed, blankets shielding her lower half. Her hairline was damp with sweat and her long locks spilled around her pillow like puddles of gold. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were parted, and her eyes were downcast, gazing at a small, pink thing cradled in her arms.
At the sight of his child, Jonathan's heart seemed to cease completely. Dark wispy hair coated his skull, which looked big compared to the rest of his body. Hands, belly, toes, elbows, ears, nose—every part of him was minuscule. His eyelids were shut tight, and his glossy lips were ajar as tiny, hushed breaths hiccupped out of him. Was he scared? Confused? Or was he simply getting used to the new world around him?
Either way, he was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"Isn't he perfect?" Erina murmured, running a gentle finger down his round cheek. A high-pitched cooing sound bubbled from his lips as if he wasn't expecting so light a touch. Erina giggled and looked up at Jonathan.
He couldn't help but let his smile grow and grow until his cheeks ached, until his heart felt like it would burst like a balloon. "I was thinking the same thing," he told Erina.
He asked her how she felt, if there was anything he could possibly do for her. Erina blinked slowly, visibly exhausted. "I need to sleep for a fortnight to regain everything I lost today," she chuckled humorlessly. Her chest rose and fell (along with their baby) as a deep sigh seeped out of her. "But everything went well; that's all that matters."
"Yes, she did extremely well," Dr. Robinson commented. Jonathan glanced up and Robinson grinned. "Everything went according to plan. No tearing, minimal blood loss, child and mother are responding well. Your wife is a very strong woman, Mister Joestar."
Jonathan grinned back. "I already knew that." His smile melted into something more sincere. "Thank you for everything, doctor."
He nodded his head once. "Of course. We'll collect our belongings and give you some time. Simply call should you need anything."
As the nurses followed Robinson out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind them, Erina's tired yet amused voice mumbled, "Jonathan, love, look."
He turned to her again. She was carefully shifting the baby around in her arms so that his back faced Jonathan. She tugged down on the linen he was wrapped in and, to Jonathan's wonder, a dark, faded birthmark in the shape of a five-pointed star splotched on the back of his left shoulder revealed itself to him.
"With this and the dark hair, I'd say he favors you more," Erina smiled, combing her fingers through the newborn's wispy hair upon his big round head, the shade of cocoa beans.
Amazed, Jonathan traced the dull star on his son's back. His skin was so smooth, so warm. Something coursed throughout his veins upon touch like when Frankenstein's monster was jolted to life with lightning. Except it wasn't lightning that restarted his heart, but a different kind of love he wasn't familiar with until that very moment.
He was at a loss for words. He slowly sunk onto the bed, silent as though he was standing in the middle of the Colosseum, admiring its inexplicable beauty. His son captivated him entirely, everything from his tiny fingernails to the cooing noises he made. He couldn't look away. Everything else didn't matter, everything else didn't exist.
"Would you like to hold him?" Erina asked.
His heart grew wings and began to beat wildly, yet his voice was hushed: "Yes, please."
Jonathan's hand slid from the birthmark to the back of his son's fluffy head. Erina tilted him in Jonathan's direction, and he replaced her bony hands with his forearm, enveloping their baby almost completely. It was another reminder of how comically large he was compared to everyone else, especially to one who couldn't have weighed more than seven pounds.
He gazed down. This beautiful creation of theirs was wrapped loosely in a piece of linen, so Jonathan tucked the fabric in to protect him from the chilly midnight air. Another chirping sound bubbled from his full lips, yet his eyes remained shut. He seemed so content in Jonathan's arms like a kitten cuddling up in a ray of sunlight. The rapid beating of his butterfly heart never ceased; every tiny moment was an honor, and Jonathan prayed that they wouldn't pass by so quickly.
"I was thinking about a name," Erina's soft voice echoed beside him, "now that we know he's a boy." Her legs shifted underneath the covers, and he felt her knees rest against his spine.
"Oh?" Jonathan replied, not looking up from his son's form—he was completely spellbound. "What did you have in mind?"
A short pause. "I thought George would be a nice name. We could name him after your father, you know…"
Jonathan's head slowly turned toward Erina. She had her hands laid across her balloon belly and was gazing at him through tender eyes. It was the same look she gave him whenever she was being blunt or straightforward and wanted to see his reaction. His surprised—almost flustered—response was typical, expected really (which was probably why she said such things in the first place).
"W-What?" he said stupidly.
"Let's name him George to honor your father." She blinked slowly as if to confirm her own statement.
"Erina, my love, that's extremely generous of you, but-but what about your father? We could name him Walter."
She nodded. "We could, but I'm quite positive Father will understand if we named him George instead." Her head rolled to the side so she could see her son's face once more. "I know you were extremely close with your father, and you admired him greatly. What better way to carry on his legacy than to name your firstborn after him?"
Her eyes met Jonathan's again. "It's a rather magnificent name, don't you agree?"
Mist coated his vision like early morning dew. His throat tightened as it tried to halt the urge to weep. Wobbly muscles tugged at the corners of his lips—a smile he attempted to convey with the utmost appreciation.
"Thank you," he told Erina, although the words were barely above a whisper.
She merely smiled before snuggling deeper into the covers, her knees scraping against his spine.
Jonathan looked down at his son again. He was still drumming his shiny, pink lips, as if he was testing its use for the first time. His head tilted this way and that, his fingers grasping at the air. He was so curious, his precious son, so adventurous.
Lovingly, Jonathan pressed a kiss upon his son's head, his fuzzy hair tickling the tip of his nose. "Welcome to the world, George," he breathed as a tear slipped from his waterline and curved over his knuckles. "I'm so happy you're here."