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Dio was the golden child. He shined like the sun, blistering and brilliant, claiming the sky for himself and burning all those who dared to share it with him. Those who weren’t burnt basked in his light, so desperate to bathe in his warmth that they didn’t notice him sucking up theirs. They all looked up to him, admired him, wanted to be him. Dio was radiant. Perfect.
If Dio was the sun, Jonathan was the North Star. Dio was blinding, but Jonathan was a cool, comforting glow. He wasn’t too bright, wasn’t too breath-taking or noticeable. He shared the sky with many other stars, not outwardly drawing attention from them, yet, somehow or another, it was always him people turned to for guidance and comradery.
Despite his shortcomings, despite how utterly dull he was next to his over-achieving adopted brother, it was JoJo that effortlessly attracted others. While Dio had to take drastic strides to earn the respect of his peers, JoJo had always been able to receive love and support without even trying.
After years of close observation, Dio had come to the conclusion that Jonathan Joestar had the power to make anyone with whom he crossed paths fall relentlessly and irrefutably in love with him. That was the only explanation he could think of for why, despite all his fumbling attempts to cling to his burning, passionate hatred for his ‘brother’, he, the sun, found himself freezing without the warmth of that lowly North Star.
Naturally, Dio hadn’t realized his feelings for what they were until he’d killed Jonathan and taken his body.
And naturally, seconds after he realized that it wasn't anger he felt towards JoJo but some variation of love, another blasted, unnecessary emotion began welling up in his chest.
Regret.
Because, by that point, Jonathan was dead, his wife-- god, Dio hated that word. Hated how it could be in the same sentence as 'Jonathan' as if some petty woman was possibly enough to stand beside him- was screaming in the distance and Dio was looking up into blank, empty eyes and finally understanding that he fucked up.
He wanted JoJo but never, never like this. Not dead. He wanted to stand beside his adopted brother, not inside him and he’d realized it far, far too late.
Dio got what he wanted. He won but, in doing so, he gave up the one thing he’d always taken for granted.
The sun could light the way, but he himself was completely lost without his north star.
It was all so tragically poetic.
Oh, if only he’d realized it sooner.
A light chuckle escaped the vampire's throat, a short, bitter noise, as he mused to himself. A couple of women giggled at him and he passed them with a nod, barely concealing his revulsion.
Walking around Cairo in Jonathan’s perfect body, Dio felt empty. He’d won, hadn’t he? Jonathan was his and his alone. He’d finally emerged victorious, so why did it feel like he was the one who had lost? He was constantly assured of his superiority, yet he felt nothing but disgust and rage as men and women alike fawned over him.
No, not him.
Jonathan.
They wanted to touch, they wanted to feel, they wanted to have every bit of the man they could get their hands on and Dio decided, then and there, that no one would have JoJo but him. He would find another body, not one big enough to rival JoJo’s but one beautiful enough to be Dio’s and he and he alone would have Jonathan for himself.
After several nights of body-hunting and devouring the weak, Dio went out for a drink and found, by complete accident, exactly what he was looking for.
The woman could have been his sister. She had his cold amber eyes and dollish features and Dio immediately knew she was the one. But it wasn’t her head he wanted. No, after nearly an hour of playful garbs and persuasion—they were so alike it was like trying to seduce himself, Dio later mused- the vampire had taken her back to his mansion and decapitated her neatly and quietly, burned her head and made her delicate frame his own.
Transformation complete, Dio held Jonathan’s severed head against his new body and slowly approached the skin he’d shed. He was both pleased and baffled to find that the corpse still responded to him. Even after everything, JoJo was so warm in contrast to his frigid touch and Dio had to wonder if it’d always been that way as he delicately sewed Jonathan’s neck together. Were those big hands just as warm when they’d been Dio’s? He didn’t remember breathing; had Jonathan’s chest subconsciously risen and fallen that way for him? It was almost as if the corpse was breathing.
Dio jolted, as if suddenly slapped with hamon.
Breathing.
Breathing.
Jonathan was breathing.
JoJo should have been dead. No, he was dead. Dio hadn’t resurrected him yet. It was impossible for him to still be alive.
The vampire grabbed JoJo’s wrist and checked for a pulse.
No.
No, it was impossible. There was no way—Dio would have noticed- it couldn’t be—
But there was no mistaking the facts before him, the truth Dio held in his very arms—Jonathan’s breathing, his pulse, his heart beat: all were in perfectly functioning order.
Yes.
How?
“D…Dio?” If it weren’t for his heightened sense of hearing, the vampire wouldn’t have heard the soft mumble that escaped Jonathan’s lips.
“JoJo?” Dio looked down in awe.
He didn’t know how it was possible, a he didn’t care; in that moment, all Dio felt was immense joy, something he hadn’t felt-not truly, since his mother’s passing.
Dio threw back his head and laughed. Jonathan was alive.
JoJo was alive.
“Stop…being so…loud…” Jonathan grumbled and pulled the now much smaller vampire against his side.
Dio smiled in disbelief before, for the first time in over a hundred years, sleeping through the night.