Chapter Text
Dying itself isn't very pleasant and it was very rude of Dio to crash Jonathan's honeymoon with his homicidal vampire nonsense. Could Dio go one week without trying to ruin his life? please? The act of being dead on the other hand was a lot more pleasant then dying as it meant you could catch up with loved ones who were also dead.
He was surprised that Bruford was among the first to greet him at the gates of Heaven but it was good to see him again in a less "I've been brought here to kill you" context. It was good to get to see His Parents, William Zeppeli, Danny, and his son George II, Zeppeli's grandson Caesar, his wife Erina, and lastly Speedwagon, in some cases good to finally meet them, in others it was good to get to catch up with them.
Speedwagon had been happy to fill Jonathan and George II in on what they had missed out on in terms of both the modern technologies and what an absolute mad genius and lucky bastard Joseph had become. Other souls had listened in as swapping life stories was a very common thing to do in the afterlife.
"and then, I kid you not: when he was being chased by the ULTIMATE LIFEFORM KARS, and the plane was crashing into the volcano do you know what the motherfucker did?"
"Something crazy that somehow saved his life, considering he's not here with us."
"He made a dummy that was thrown out with the parachute and when Kars went after it, thinking it was Joseph, who was still in the plane. HE STEERED THE PLANE INTO KARS AND WAS ABOUT TO-"
Jonathan started clutching his neck as it felt like his throat was on fire and his lungs were filled with sand.
"Jojo? are you alright?" the small crowd of family and friends looked worried, no he was not alright but before he could say or do anything he felt something pull him down as hard as it could.
"JOOOOOOOJOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Speedwagon reaching out to him and calling his name was the last thing he saw before being brought back to "life".
The feeling of being pulled from death to life is terrible, Imagine that you're wearing a warm wet, too-tight itchy sweater, eating a Tupperware container of cold mac and cheese with a moist clammy texture in a locked bathroom stall of a dimly-lit public restroom that looks like it could've been in any horror game featuring a monster coming out of the toilet. Everything smells like sour milk, wet dog and shredded coconut and someone you don't know is heavily breathing on the other side of your door. Then you get plunged into a deep ocean, it feels like seaweed is coiling around your legs, you choke on the mac and cheese, it's harder and harder to breathe as you're being pulled down faster and faster.
While what I just described is not entirely like the trip from the afterlife-to-life-life, it has the similar emotions of "so many different things are wrong with this picture that it's hard to focus on just one".
The first thing Jonathan felt back in the land of the living was the feeling of having half the shit beat out of him, vaguely reminding him of his boxing days as a young boy.
The modern world was far different from Jonathan's own time, that was an inevitability but judging by the appearances and clothing of the people around, this place definitely wasn't England or America.
Four of the said people did not look like they were friendly gentlemen who wanted a lovely chat. They looked more like they would happily rip off his head and play rugby with it.
One of them was likely a boxer judging by the build and stance, all armed with nunchucks and knives, all gaining upon him.
It was nothing he couldn't handle, he wouldn't even to need to use hamon. But what surprised him was the realization that he couldn't move 'his' body, the unfamiliar voice coming out of 'his' mouth, and good heavens above! the vulgar language coming out of 'his' mouth?!
"Good grief, can't you assholes get lost already?"
"Stop trying that tough-guy act, Jotaro! Ya broke my sister's heart and now you're getting an ass-kicking!"
"If your bitch of a sister just left me alone-"
"SHUT IT JOJO! DON'T BLAME MY SISTER FOR YOUR BULLSHIT!"
The most-likely-of-the-four-to-be-a-boxer spat angerly at Jotaro's face while the other three of his goons glared and posed intimidatingly.
Jonathan struggled against whatever was keeping him from moving while the Boxer threw the first punch, Jotaro ducked and went in for an uppercut.
Knives out, the other three tried to tackle Jotaro, and before their knives so much as scraped the fabric of his school uniform Jonathan grabbed them by the blades (unintentionally cutting Jotaro's fingers in the process) and yanked the knives out of the thugs' hands.
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT ON A STICK THE KNIVES ARE FLOATING!"
Jotaro looked behind him to see that the knives were in fact not floating but rather being held by a tall warrior-like spirit that gave off a powerful aura.
"W-WHO CARES? JUST GET HIM!"
The not-trying-to-reveal-how-scared-he-was boxer screamed in that trying-too-hard-to-sound-tough kind of tone. The thugs had unwillingly thrown themselves at Jotaro, which neither he nor Jonathan had taken kindly to that action.
...A few rather un-gentlemanlike attacks from Jotaro, powerful strikes from Jonathan, Jotaro getting convinced that the warrior spirit was evil due to the fact all he's seen it do was grab knives and punch people, the four men howling in agony, fifteen broken bones between the four of them, and a passerby calling the police later, Jotaro was arrested and thrown in jail.
(Okay technically there must've had to have been some sort of trial or that kinda thing between those points but I don't think anyone will read Jojo's bizarre adventure fanfiction that focuses on Jonathan as Star Platinum for paragraphs about a trial, also I, the author don't know jack shit about how the Japanese legal system works so there.)
Any jail cell from the Victorian era is an unpleasant one to be in. A modern jail cell is also unpleasant but at least the mattresses were nicer. The jail cell was still just as unpleasant as Jonathan imagined what jail cells were like.
But on the bright side, he wasn't as stuck in the back seat of the mind of a rowdy and rude teenager as he thought he was.