Chapter Text
Dio Brando was born on the filthy floor of a rundown tenement in the worst part of London. Thirteen years later, he stood outside, watching a coffin be hauled away. There were few bearers, as Dario Brando had not been a friendly man. Very few wanted the… honor… of placing him in his humble graveyard plot.
Eternal rest is too good for him , Dio thought. The tips of his fingers were branded by poison, a spattering of purple and black that went unnoticed when he closed his hand in a fist. The burn remained, though, dull throbs that coursed up his wrist. It’d fade in a day or two, he was sure. By then, he’d be on his way to a new life. Where, he wasn’t sure. But anywhere was better, surely. Anywhere, other than...
He killed his father. There was no way around it, no excuse. He killed his father, and got away with it, and was watching the outcome be hauled away like trash.
That was good. Dio knew that was good.
It started to rain. Tiny drops of ice fell from the sky, rolling down his skin and flattening his hair. He shivered, shoving his hands in his pockets, feeling the scratchy wool. This coat was old, too small, too rough to be pleasant, but at least it kept him warm enough to not lose fingers. He’d come close, in previous years, but it never did progress. For some reason, the cold spared him.
Dio chose not to follow the procession; the ceremony would be quick, lacking grace. Hell, if they were keeping true to form, they would simply throw his body into the pit and let the earth fall over the corpse like a drunk falling in the gutter. No, it would be too good for him. Dio chose not to witness it.
Instead, once the way was clear, Dio climbed the stairs to the old tenement, stood in the open doorway. The air, as always, was musty. Death’s stench hung in the air like a cloud. It had persisted for the past several days, before Dario Brando had taken his last breath. It was likely to hang about for long after the room was vacated.
Stepping into the room, Dio looked toward the chair, at the folded piece of parchment shoved between the threadbare cushions. What was it, some sort of last will and testament? Dio doubted his father had any money nor desire to legally set his affairs in order, nor did he have anything of worth to attest to.
“Dio. My time… is almost up. Listen. When I die, take this letter… to the Joestar mansion. They owe me s-something big. You’re a smart boy, aren’t you? Go out there and… and become something.”
Lip curling unconsciously into a sneer, Dio snatched up the letter from the cushion, the edge crumpled in his hands. “What does that idiot know?” he hissed to himself, tempting to toss the paper in the cooling embers of the fireplace and have done with it.
But… perhaps it was important. Perhaps there was some distant relative, someone who would be willing to...
So, he sat in the rickety armchair, and opened the letter.
“...so you knew you were on your way out,” Dio murmured to himself, eyes scanning the page. The words took him longer to comprehend than he liked to admit- schooling had not been high on Dario’s list of priorities for his son. Water dripped from his face to the paper, so he held it up to the light. “Glad to hear it.”
Then, Dio slowly frowned, yellow eyes narrowed. The note, in thick, shaky letters, spoke of a night many years ago, where Dario had come upon the wreck of a carriage. A cold, stormy road. A dead woman, an infant still crying in her arms, and an injured man. It seemed that Dario had saved this man’s life.
Now that doesn’t sound like you at all.
With a sign, Dio stood, making his way to a nearby candle, set on resealing the letter properly.
The Joestars lived in Liverpool. They were a rich family, and had something of a reputation in the city. George Joestar was seemingly a good man, a merchant by trade with a widespread reach of influence. Any market was bound to have the Joestar seal on their shipping crates.
And Dario wanted them to take Dio in.
A clap of thunder sounded outside, and the boy lifted his head to stare out the window. The rain had picked up, the gale roaring down narrow, tangled streets.
Everything Dario had once been seemed to pull away, if only for a moment. As drops of rain pelted the cracked window pane, trails carving tiny roads of their own in the clear surface, Dio felt the slightest weight lift from his shoulders. A new life. A new family. Something good, perhaps. Maybe now, he could...
Then, the gale faded, and Dio’s gaze dropped.
No. No matter what he did now, he would always be from this place. He would always be the offspring of a monster, he would always have the devil’s luck, and he would always, always, be a murderer.
When red wax dripped down onto the envelope, Dio pressed his ring into it, squinting his eyes against the heat.
And he told himself that he was just fine with that.
-
The dog was bleeding.
Dio stared down at the thing at his feet as it whined, large paws scrabbling for purchase in the yellow dust. They kicked up small clouds in the morning air, tainting it with dirt. A bit of red stained its muzzle around the teeth, right where Dio had kicked it viciously.
Of course Dio had kicked it, not out of reflex or fear. The world he came from was brutal; a single hint of weakness was akin to blood in the water. One wrong move spelled out death, and Dio couldn’t afford to fail here.
The fact that the Joestars had another child wasn’t unexpected, yet Dio felt himself bristle under the other boy’s friendly smile. He was trying something here, surely, trying to gain Dio’s trust only to strike when his guard was down. There was no other reason for the facade, Dio was certain, and he had to show that he was not to be trifled with. He was not vulnerable.
And so, he kicked the dog. Danny, he thought its name was.
But… the blood was a shock, primary on stark primary in the morning light. When Dio’s father died, there had been no blood, no indication of violence. This spattering of pain was disconcerting to witness. Dio didn’t like seeing this evidence. It sent spiders crawling down his spine, an uncomfortable familiarity at the sight of crimson on innocent flesh.
He nearly didn’t hear the Joestar boy’s voice crack in outrage. “Why’d you do that?!” he yelled, gaze turning fiery as he held up his fists. “How dare you hurt him!”
The way he held himself, the way he jumped to rage so immediately, made Dio think of him as a pampered brat, one whose only experience fighting was for sport, for entertainment. This wasn’t someone who ever had to struggle.
Blinking away his doubts, Dio lifted his own fists, fixing the Joestar brat with a glare of his own. At the very least, he hoped this boy, this ‘Jonathan Joestar’, would learn very quickly that they were not friends. Dio was here to live, and to one day make the most of this family’s fortune.
He wasn’t here to gain a brother.
“What’s going on here?” an older voice demanded. Both boys paused, gazes turning to the front staircase of the Joestar mansion.
It was immediately apparent that this man was Jonathan’s father. Both had the odd tinge of blue to their dark hair, their eyes held a similar spark. George Joestar, however, was clearly far more refined than his son, holding himself with the posture found only in one accustomed to high society.
“I’m sorry,” Dio said immediately, dipping at the waist into a bow. He made sure to keep his voice even, smoothing out the accent to be more fitting of upper class Liverpool, less grit than the streets of London gave him. “The dog jumped at me; I thought it was going to attack.”
Despite Jonathan’s incredulous stare, George Joestar simply sighed, holding out a hand. “An honest mistake to make. I’m always telling Jojo to control that dog.”
“But I…” Jonathan let his words trail off, simply glancing away in a huff.
The handshake George gave was firm, though lessened for the grip of a child. The elder Joestar, at least, was clearly a strong man. Dio made a note of this. “Nonsense. I’ll just have to keep my wits about me next time, if I’m to be living here.”
George gave a slight smile and released the handshake, gesturing for the boys to follow him. “Of course, Dio. You’re welcome in our home.”
As they moved to enter the estate, Dio paused at the top of the stairs, casting a glance back at the dog. Danny had picked himself up and no longer whined, though he pawed hesitantly at his snout, licking his wounds as best he could.
Dio swallowed, smoothing out his expression as he crossed the threshold.
Guilt wasn’t something he would allow himself to get used to.
-
Dio Brando’s first kiss was with a girl he did not love. She was pretty, that much was true, eyes wide and blue as they stared up at him, though filled with fear unbefitting. Her long blond hair flowed free, a portion gathered and braided to trail down her back. A blue dress, prim and proper, was only just tinged with brown from the muddy path they stood on.
He could see why Jonathan liked her. And he had to make the boy hate him, after all. Jonathan’s behavior, even after the violent incident with his dog, was hesitantly welcoming, confused at any hostility Dio sent his way, and more than willing to make amends. Even after their unfair bout of boxing, the Joestar tried to be forgiving and gracious.
Dio hated that.
But then, he hated the uncomfortable squirm Erina gave as he pulled her close, hated the way she pushed him away after a brief, shocked kiss, her small hands shoving at his chest in disgust. Dio could barely hear the boys jeering behind them as he lifted a hand to his lip, surprised at the dull throb of pain and hint of copper there. She had bit him, it seemed, trying to get away.
Erina shakily kneeled by the edge of the road, eyes wide as she spat the taste from her mouth. Her hands trembled as she rubbed at her mouth, slightly damp with water from a puddle, anything to wipe away the sensation.
Swallowing back his turmoil, Dio’s mouth parted in a childishly cruel grin. “Suppose you thought that’d be with Jonathan,” he taunted, venom into his tone.
Any other words trailed off, however, as Erina paused, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Those same blue eyes burned, pure hatred cutting through him as their eyes met. “Yes,” she practically whispered, “Though I would’ve rather it been with anyone other than you.”
Dio simply stared at her as one of the boys jeered beside him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Come on then, Dio, you’re gonna let her get away with that?”
For a moment, he hesitated, unable to do anything else than stare back at the girl he’d hurt. He had been looked down upon plenty of times in the past, no better than any other rat in the street. But he was always an inconvenience, something disgusting to be knocked to the side, not usually something to be... loathed. And Erina Pendleton loathed him, that much was certain.
And she was right.
Finally, he turned, pulling away from the other boy and ducking slightly to hide his grimace. “She doesn’t matter to me. Let her think what she wants if she’s capable of it.”
Even as the other boys scoffed their amusement, Dio kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as he retreated, desperate to escape the blue stare burning holes in his back. The sky was tinged red, and the Joestar mansion loomed in the distance like a monster.
With the slightest tremble, he wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
-
Everything was hazy as Dio stared up at his attacker, squinting slightly in surprise. Jonathan was… strong. Stronger that he’d given him credit for, stronger than he had estimated. The boy’s teeth were grit tight, his fist lifting back for another punch, and he had fire in his eyes.
At first, Dio thought it was hate.
Jonathan brought his fist down on Dio’s face once more, tears glistened in the warm lights of the mansion. It was betrayal in his eyes as he screamed Dio’s name, over and over and over again.
He really thought I was going to be his brother.
“Jonathan! Jonathan, let go of him!” a voice called out, George Joestar appearing at the top of the stairs. He stared down at the fight with shock. Dio’s face was bruised, his face bloody from a broken nose, a few stray drops spattering the tiles and Jonathan’s crisp, white shirt. A bit had even been flung onto the wall, trickling down the stone mask that hung there, making it violently shake on its hook.
“No!” Jonathan screamed back, barely coherent as he reared back again.
Desperate for an out, Dio squirmed away, barely rolling to the side to avoid the next hit. Jonathan’s fist made a solid crack against the tile floor, and the sudden shock of pain was enough to shake the youngest Joestar out of his rage.
He remained still for a moment, taking heavy breaths, enough for Dio to fully pull away. He hauled himself quickly to his feet. Shakily, Jonathan sat back on the floor, lightly rubbing the swelling knuckles on his injured hand. He… hadn’t meant to go that far. The love he had for Erina… the love he tried to have for Dio… it was too much. Far too much for him to handle, an unidentifiable boil of confusion and pressure pushing his heart to explode.
At the sound of Dio’s shoes on tile, he looked up, expression falling to dismay. Staggering to his feet, he stared after his brother as he retreated down the hall, reaching out to him. “Dio, w-”
“How dare you,” George scolded fiercely, stepping out from the staircase to block Jonathan’s view of his retreating enemy. “Dio is your brother, Jonathan, how could you attack him like this?”
Conversation faded away as Dio limped down the hall, past the library and the study, the kitchen, the servants’ quarters, until he finally burst from the back doors. As a rush of cool fresh air hit him, Dio took a deep breath as he slowly walked down the steps. I barely got a hit in, he realized, dull agony from his injuries washing over him. He stared up at the blue sky, the fluffy rolling clouds overhead. And… and nothing I did seemed to work.
He hates me.
That was good. Dio knew that was good. But…
Refocusing his gaze, Dio stopped, staring down at the form before him.
A dog.
Danny sat in front of him, a few feet from a tipped over trash bin, clearly having gotten into it for the old table scraps. Now, though, he just sat still, staring up at Dio with guileless brown eyes.
Dio swallowed thickly, snarling down at the creature. “ What? ” he said harshly, unable to fully open his left eye.
He was struck with the notion that Jonathan loved this thing, this stupid animal. Maybe he could do something with that. Maybe he could hurt Jonathan more if, if he just...
Danny flinched at the tone, lowering his head as if expecting another kick. Dio expected the thing to turn tail and run, or perhaps bite him. He had hurt this thing, and hurting him back was only natural.
Instead, Danny stood, slowly creeping forward until he was directly in front of Dio. Then, he moved beside the boy, and began to lick his hand, still spotted by fading purple stains.
It all flooded over the boy at once; his pain, his disgust, his actions over the past week. Every wrong thing he had done, every evil action, the last words of his father, the memory of every time he’d been hurt, the feeling of poison in his hand being soothed by the forgiveness of a simple animal.
Feeling his knees weaken, Dio slumped to the ground, kneeling on the dirty stone as his shoulders trembled. He stared unseeing as wave after wave crashed over him. Danny didn’t seem to mind, licking the bruised side of Dio’s face as his tail wagged.
Dio wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, burying his face in the black and white fur as he began to cry. He kept his sobs quiet, like he was used to, a few louder hiccups cracking through. His grip was tight, but Danny sat patiently as the boy mourned something more than a person.
Finally composing himself enough, Dio managed to choke out, “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, haven’t I?”
Danny just gave a quiet huff, and the two sat in silence.