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When Robert E.O Speedwagon was just a child, fighting and struggling to survive in an uncaring world, he would fight for the entertainment of others, in hope to gain some money.
He was young, far far too young, but he did it anyway, because all that awaited him at the small apartment one could barely even call a house, much less a home, was a swinging fist, shattered bottles and screaming curses.
He got The Scar when he was seven, capital letters deserving, because it was The Scar that inspired Robert to shoot for things beyond mere survival, to fight for something other than the next meal.
He was a skinny, scrappy thing, hadn't yet come into the muscle he would possess later on in life, and smaller scars littered his skin, all with varying causes. He had been fighting another boy, about two years his senior, if only barely, and his opponent had pulled out a shard of broken brown glass, had slashed him across the face with it, in something Robert still wasn't sure was a distraction or an attempt to kill.
The crowd had gone berserk, but not in a bad way.
These fights had been organised by the higher-ups in the crime ladder in Ogre street, fighters would be checked for weapons upon entering, but once the match started nothing would be done, no punishments enacted for weapons successfully snuck in.
Robert had screwed his left eye shut, ignored both the overwhelming pain coming from the left side of his face and the shreiking crowd of onlookers, and lunged towards his opponent. He had never lost a fight in these streets before, and he wasn't about to start.
It was when Robert was watching the organizers of the night's fight divvy up the money between themselves, with dull eyes and a cloth against his face observing his bloodied and beaten opponent get absolutely no compensation for his injuries, that he first started being able to tell good people from bad people. When the wound stopped bleeding, and he looked into a mirror, seeing the ugly gash strike its way across his face, he thought of the boy, a street-rat just like him, ignored and forgotten once his worth was deemed used up.
He swore that wouldn't happen to him.
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Another thing about Robert E.O Speedwagon was, that despite his ignoble upbringing, he was at heart a noble soul. This reflected itself in his behaviour as he grew.
Despite being an active criminal and not much else, like many others who lived on Ogre street, Robert, despite all his flaws, was liked.
He was seen as someone who upheld a code of honour, something he rarely, if ever compromised on. It was an uncommon sight, and it was something that drew people to him.
As he scaled the social ladder, going from street-child to respected to respected and feared, Robert learnt how to talk to people. How to smile, and charm, and talk in such a way as to get people to follow him. If those who joined up with him weren't kept in line by that, they were kept in line by the edge of viciousness that he hadn't lost from when he was a child.
He disliked it, however, all the manipulations, but he still did it and he still used the conections he had forged through charm and cunning to travel all across the world, continent to continent, foreign land to land, because he didn't want to be confined to Orge street, to being a forgotten child like all the rest.
He always found himself back there, though. Back in London from his journeys to escape, because in all the travels he had undertaken, never had he found somewhere where he felt he belonged.
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Robert Speedwagon was twenty-five years old when he first met the kindest man in the entire world. Leg to face.
It had been with a bloody nose and an aching body that he had begun to come upon this realisation, as the giant of a man in front of him could have surely killed him and his comrades with ease, what with how simply he had dispatched all three of his attackers.
"Can you answer my questions?" The man- younger than him, in all likelyhood, no matter how much taller he was- repeated, an odd gentleness in his eyes. "Does anywhere around here sell something resembling this?" He held up a small white pouch. Honestly, Robert was still lost in his eyes.
And so it was with a stunned mind and a slightly bleeding heart that Robert E.O Speedwagon met Jonathan Joestar. The young man had come to Ogre street to search for a type of poison he had found in a letter, something about how he was concerned about his adoptive brother killing his birth father, Robert had tried to pay attention but the longer he spent in the presence of Mr. Joestar the more one fact solidified in his heart: he really, really liked this man. There was just something about him, be it his impeccable kindness of the contrast of being so absolutelt massive and so gentle at the same time, something about Jonathan Joestar intrigued Robert. He wanted to know more of the man.
So when Jonathan had fallen quiet as they had exited the asian medicine shop, after the short shopkeeper had confirmed that yes, he had sold that type of herb several years back and yes, it had been to a blond child he hadn't seen since, Robert did his best to try and comfort the man, offering a carriage to ride home rather than having to wait to be picked up later in the morning.
"I-" Jonathan had started, "Thank you, Mister Speedwagon. For both your offer and leading me around, I'm just-" the younger man sighed and something in Robert's chest had clenched.
"I insist you take me up on it," Robert had continued in the silence after Jonathan had finished, "It's dangerous on these streets and, while I don't doubt you can take care of yourself, I would rather make sure."
Jonathan had stared at him with those deep blue eyes, and nodded. Robert almost let out a sigh of relief, the resolve that had been burning in the younger man's eyes had dimmed upon hearing what the medicine seller had to say, and Robert wasn't sure quite as to why.
'Ah well,' he had thought to himself slightly sadly, absolutely sure that he would never see the young Joestar heir again, 'Not like I'll find out.'
(He was yet again, utterly shocked when Jonathan returned to Ogre Street just to see him, and even moreso when the younger Joestar practically extended an invitation into his life.)
(But he was even more shocked at the fact that he had said yes.)
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Throughout his association with the Joestar family, Robert had both come to know and hate Dio Brando.
If his meeting with Jonathan (sweet, gentle Jonathan) had been something resembling fondness at first sight then his meeting with the Brando had been something resembling hatred at first sight. Which, despite all their similarities, wasn't surprising.
Yes, they had both spent their childhoods in the seedier parts of London, doing things no child should have been doing at their ages.
Yes, they both had a rather shitty family life.
Yes, they had both managed their way into escaping the title of street-rat, Brando by ascending to the ranks of the upper-class, Robert by ascending to the ranks of respected by those in the underworld.
So it was odd, that when Robert and Dio met each other at Jonathan's insistence, they practically hated each other right off the bat.
Dio because he saw a warped reflection of what he could have been trying to claw its way into Jonathan's life, completely ignoring the fact that that was literally what he had done.
Speedwagon because he had taught himself throughout his life on the streets how to tell someone good from someone evil. He had seen Dio Brando, and he had been shocked at how someone so near-irredeemable could share the same space as someone so kind. He said near irredeemable, because according to what little Jonathan would speak about their relationship, Dio had recently apologised on certain events that had transpired in the past. What events these were, Robert had no clue, but he found it hard to believe that such a person as Dio Brando could actually feel something like remorse.
"I don't trust you in the slightest." He had said to Brando just as soon as Jonathan had left the room and was out of earsbot, and he found himself unsurprised at how easily the bored expression the other had been holding melted away into a glare that looked perfectly natural on an otherwise handsome face.
"I assure you," Dio had glared, "the feeling is mutual."
The two of them had exchanged more blows, all verbal for fear of inciting something in Jonathan, who entered the room right as they both fell silent.
"Right," the jovial man had said, ever-present smile still in place, yet more vibrant than usual, "I wanted to tell you two something."
"Right after introducing us, Jojo?" Dio had drawled, and Jonathan seemed embarrassed, scratching the back of his head.
"Right right, I would love for introductions to continue, but it really can't wait." He sucked in a breath. "Erina and I are getting married."
Robert felt like the air had been punched out of him. A quick glance over to Brando showed that he wasn't doing to well either, a bewildered look on his face.
All Robert could think about, as he launched into and over-the-top monologue about how happy he was for Mr. Joestar, were the tears threatening to fall from his eyes.
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"Alright,-" Brando slurred at him, almost as completely wasted as he was at the wedding reception for Jonathan and Erina, both amazing people, so lucky they found each, other such an amazing couple-
He felt like he was going to get sick, and he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or not.
Brando continued, unheeding of his internal dilemma "-you fucking bastard. You n' me, outsise, now. I won- won't fucking tolerate this." Robert would have probably been laughing at just how shattered Dio's regular composure was, had he not been trying to drown his sorrows. He near slammed his face onto the table and-
-found hiself swinging at Brando in a darkened alleyway behind the hotel, both of them absolutely wasted beyond their minds.
Brando was a good fighter, he fought like he had been properly trained but also resorted to the dirty tricks kids learnt on Ogre street, nails in the eyes, elbowing, scratching and biting. Robert gave back twice as much.
They found themselves, eventually, almost collapsing on eachother, only thing holding them both up a thin veneer of dignity, of not wanting to be the first to fall. The only noise was the faint sounds of the party inside and both of their harsh breathing.
"You were right you know," Dio spoke, breaking the silence. His eyes were unfocused and it was only a combination of drunkeness and the sheer familiarity Robert brought in terms of backstory that was prompting him to talk. "About the poison."
Robert didn't follow. "Wha'?" He slurred out, stumbling on one foot and almost dragging the two of them down.
"About the poison," Dio repeated. "I almost poisoned the man who took me in, but I didn't. Near had a heart attack when Jojo accused me."
Robert blinked as his brain tried to process. Once. Twice. Nope, nothing. "Alright," he said, with another mildly confused blink "why are we fighting again?"
"I know you love Jonathan and I don't want you to ruin his marriage."
"Oddly... kind of you."
Dio let out a breathy laugh, high pitched and slightly hysterical. "It is, isn't it?" He asked, before he collapsed at the side of the wall chuckling.
Robert soon joined him, idly noticing that Brando had recut a portion of his scar. His everything hurt, but it hurt in a familar way.
They just sat there for a while, two street-children elevated above their previous station, and Robert thought that just maybe he could see what Jonathan had meant when he said that Dio was at least slightly good.