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Hamon, despite being primarily a martial art, had a wide array of uses.
Even the obvious anti-aging aside, it could also function like a kind of sixth sense, alerting the user to subtle changes in their surroundings and warning them if things weren’t quite right. In a similar way to how dogs could detect some cancers by virtue of their advanced sense of smell, a Hamon user could detect small changes in life energies that could be potential forerunners to something being very, very wrong.
Caesar had sensed it before he’d even opened the bedroom door.
If he were being honest with himself, he’d started to sense it days ago. But denial was much stronger than logic: it was easier to ignore the inevitable than face something like that. Something he’d been spending the better part of half a century desperately not thinking about.
Even now, he’d do anything to avoid facing it. It was too soon.
It would always be too soon.
And yet, it was here. As seemed to be the case with every dreaded thing: the more it was dreaded, the faster it came, and the more unprepared it found you.
There was nothing he dreaded more than this.
Hauling in a deep, steadying breath, Caesar opened the bedroom door with a ringing creak.
The room appeared just the same as it always had, with the same dim lightbulb and dusty-rose shade, the same floral-patterned curtains blocking out the fading sunset light, and the same pink striped, perpetually crumpled bedsheets. The master bedroom still had Suzie written all over it, even though years had passed since her heart attack. The only aspect of the room showing any change was the figure huddled in the bed.
Usually bright-eyed and upbeat (with all complaining aside), Joseph was sitting up stiffly, eyes downcast and expression troubled. Caesar felt a cold weight drop in his stomach. He’d been hoping he’d made a mistake, misread the life energies somehow. But something was clearly bothering Joseph, and for that something to be unrelated would be far too much of a coincidence.
But…maybe…?
Joseph barely seemed to notice as Caesar edged the door closed behind him and made his way towards the bed, sidestepping miscellaneous pieces of medical equipment and the occasional empty pill bottle as he went.
Joseph looked up once he reached the chair by the bed. “…You can sense it too, can’t you?”
Caesar froze, halfway to sitting down. Of course, it had been too much to hope for.
He collapsed into the chair and squeezed his eyes shut, hanging his head. He didn’t think he could face those eyes just yet. “…Yes. I can sense it.” His voice came out too small, too weak. It didn’t sound like his own voice at all.
There was a brief, heavy silence. “…How long do y’think I have?” Joseph said, loud by comparison, although still rasping and clearly weak with age.
Caesar swallowed around the catch in his throat, willing his voice to co-operate. Just for a bit longer. “Uh…tomorrow morning. At…at the most.”
It wasn’t enough.
They’d had over 80 years, but it wasn’t enough.
“…Damn.” Joseph sounded like he’d just been told it was going to rain tomorrow—frustratingly blasé, even at the end. Caesar would chastise him for it, but that wouldn’t exactly be wise, given the circumstances. He couldn’t let their last few hours together dissolve into a fight.
Joseph huffed in a small and utterly humourless laugh. “Guess this is it then, huh?”
Caesar tried to disguise his wince in an echoing humourless laugh. It didn’t seem right that someone like Joseph could just… end like this. Disappear, like he’d never existed at all. “I guess so,” he managed. “Do you want me to…to call Holly? Or—”
“No,” Joseph interrupted forcefully. He sighed. “There’s no way she’d get here in time, and I don’t want her to feel…”
Caesar balled his fists in his lap, staring down at them. “I get it.” Maybe if he’d acknowledged the signs when he’d first felt them, Holly could have said goodbye to her dad. Jotaro could have seen his grandad, one last time. Jolyne could have been regaled with one more wildly hyperbolic retelling of their time on Air Supplena Island.
But no.
Caesar had robbed them of that, by being too weak to accept the inevitable. He’d selfishly stolen their chance at a proper goodbye, and the guilt was beginning to swell, clawing up his throat.
How was he supposed to look them in the eye after that? He wasn’t even family; how could he share in their grief?
“Hey, I know what you’re doing; don’t you dare start torturing yourself,” Joseph scolded, like he’d just caught a child stealing from the cookie jar.
Caesar blinked at the floor. “How did you know—”
“Because I know you, ya idiot. You and all your honour and integrity bullshit. You sensed something was up days ago, right?”
Caesar nodded.
“Well, so did I. So, if it’s your fault, then I guess it’s mine too.”
“But then why didn’t you—”
“I couldn’t exactly call up my daughter in Japan and tell her genetic sunlight magic told me I was dying. And besides, it’s not really the easiest thing to talk about with your kid.”
Caesar said nothing. He dug his nails into his palms, embracing the stinging sensation; a means of distraction from the guilt that still weighed down every breath.
“Hey,” Joseph said gently, “Caesar. Look at me.”
Caesar, who had been desperately avoiding exactly that, squeezed his eyes shut again. He knew resistance was futile. Steeling himself, he looked up to meet Joseph’s gaze.
A cocky teenager with questionable morals and an ego the size of a bus stared back at him, smiling his deceptively kind smile. The myriad of wrinkles, the meagre wisps of white hair, the rattling, shallow breath; none of it logically connected with the man sitting in front of him. This was Joseph. He was sharp, and energetic, and so completely full of life it was almost irritating. Surely this frail old man, so delicate a stray butterfly could break a bone, couldn’t possibly be him. How could normal rules of mortality apply to the larger than life? Wasn’t that…unfair? Cruel?
“…It’s ok,” Joseph said—softly, delicately, like the auditory equivalent of a handwoven blanket. “I talked to Holly earlier. Jotaro and Jolyne, too. I know they’ll be alright.” He reached out a shrivelled, shaking hand, laying it over top of Caesar’s balled fist. “I’m happy you’re here with me. Not to sound cliché, but people always say being with family is the best way to go out.”
Joseph’s hand looked so tiny, the veins popping out like small blue worms burrowed under the skin. “But I’m not—”
“If you finish that sentence I will return from the afterlife solely to kick your ass.” Joseph somehow managed to pry Caesar’s fist open, slotting his own hand in and squeezing Caesar’s fingers. “You are family. Duh. You always have been, ever since my ill-advised foray into bigamy with ancient superbeings.”
Joseph made it sound so simple, like only an idiot wouldn’t know something so blindingly obvious.
For Caesar, family had always been a much more complicated affair. One he still couldn’t quite make peace with, even so many years later and with the cause of all the strife long gone. It didn’t feel possible that someone could see it as something so devoid of complication or question, so fundamentally plain as day.
But then…
When Caesar was 16, he’d been angry, and confused, and scared, roaming the streets of Rome with no purpose but revenge. All without a clue that everything he knew as fact would turn out to be the opposite.
And then came Lisa Lisa.
Lisa Lisa, who’d taken him in, who’d trained him, who’d borderline adopted him.
Who’d saved him.
When her Hamon’s anti-aging just couldn’t sustain her anymore, it had truly felt like he was losing his mother, all over again. So, what had she been, if not family?
And what about Suzie, with her moral support and playful teasing and insistence on sticking to Italian purely to irritate Joseph? What had she been, if not a sister?
And then, of course, there was Joseph. His best friend of 8 decades. His obnoxiously bright ray of sunshine. His solid ground. How had he never realised it before? Of course Joseph counted as family. What else do you call someone you’d happily die for?
But why did this long overdue revelation have to come now? Caesar had already lost so many pieces of his family. He wasn’t sure he could handle losing another.
“Hey. Hellooooo?” Joseph’s voice pulled Caesar out of his rapidly unravelling mind, thankfully. “You still in there? Hate to interrupt, but I don’t really have time for you to go all vacant on me. Y’know, all things considered.”
Caesar glanced down at Joseph’s hand, clasped in his own. Tiny, shrivelled, frail…but warm. Familiar.
Alive.
He squeezed back. “I’m here,” he managed, blinking away the blurry fog. As of right now, Joseph was alive, aware, and right in front of him. And he would try to soak up every damn second he had left. Looking up into Joseph’s eyes again, he took the opportunity to relish the spark of life that still lived there. The contradictory mischievous kindness that was so very Joseph.
Most people weren’t this lucky. Most people would never have met someone like this in the first place, let alone have a chance to say goodbye.
Joseph smiled his firelight smile. “Just like always.” He squeezed Caesar’s hand again, before looking away, eyes travelling around the room.
“So, deathbed and all,” he said, as if this were a perfectly ordinary, mundane thing to say. His smile took a sharp turn for the mischievous. “Isn’t this when you’re supposed to confess your undying love for me?”
Caesar smiled, rolling his eyes. “I’ll confess my undying frustration if you want.”
“Oh shut up, you love me and you know it.”
“…I will admit nothing.”
Joseph pouted, bearing a striking resemblance to a petulant child. It was a favourite expression of his, even at that age. “You’re no fun. C’mon, Caesarino, last chance. There’s a real sap hiding behind those eye rolls, I know it.”
The effect of Caesar’s defiant glare was probably significantly lessened by his stubbornly watering eyes. Nevertheless, Joseph continued to play the game, upping the ante to full blown whining. “Come onnnnn. You really gonna do this? Deny my final wish? How awfully disrespectful of your elders. I expected more from you, Caesar.”
“I’m older than you, you moron.” There was no point in resisting, obviously, and they both knew it. That was always how these things went. Nothing he could say would actually be news to Joseph anyway, but they’d both known that too, of course. “You know what, fine. If you insist.”
Deciding that he might as well commit, Caesar bent down with dramatic flourish and kissed the back of Joseph’s hand, doing his best impression of a Disney prince. “My dearest, JoJo. My wonderful best friend. My closest family. My love for you is deeper than the Marianas Trench, more expansive that the twinkling night sky, and more potent than the deadliest of poisons. I am eternally grateful for the day I met you, and although we now must part, you will remain in my heart forever. I truly do not know how I will go on without you, my dear, sweet moron.” He looked up to gauge Joseph’s reaction, smirking when he saw the ‘perplexed bewilderment’ he’d been aiming for. “That sappy enough for you?”
“…Damn.” Joseph blinked slowly, wide-eyed. “…How did you ever get girls? I mean, did that kind of cheesy bullshit really work on them? Really?”
Despite his best efforts, Caesar couldn’t fight off a grin. “Shut up. You’re as jealous now as you were back in Rome.”
“Pffft, please, I was not jealous of you.”
“Oh, really? You could have fooled me.”
“Oh I’m sorry, which one of us ended up with the cute blonde wife again? Must have better moves than you thought.”
“Whatever you say.” That was something, anyway. At least he’d be reunited with Suzie again. “Hey…say hi to Suzie for me, will you?”
Joseph’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. “Of course. I have to tell her how lousy of a nurse you are compared to her. Although I guess you never screwed up so bad that my entire family thought I was dead for several weeks, so that’s something.”
Caesar shot him a half-hearted glare of disapproval. “Don’t talk about your wife that way.”
“What, did you enjoy thinking I’d died saving the world from a goddamn super-charged Aztec god of fitness?”
Caesar really preferred not to think about it. The world had felt…off, during those few weeks. There had been a strange sense of uncanny valley, like everything was the same, but there was something fundamentally wrong. A hole, ripped in the fabric of his life where an essential presence belonged, where it should have been.
It was awful.
And before long, it would be reality again. For good. There would be no surprise guests at the gravesite this time.
A fond smile fought its way onto Caesar’s face. “Only you could crash your own funeral. Like a colossal dumbass, might I add.”
Joseph scoffed in obvious mock offense. “Well, you seemed pretty happy about it. And I thought we established this—it was not my fault, I told Suzie to send that telegram, and—”
“Excuses, excuses.” Caesar shook his head in faux disapproval. He did his best to avoid blinking, not wanting the precarious rim of tears stinging his eyes to spill over. “You haven’t changed at all, il mio idiota.”
“What, is that supposed to be a bad thing?”
“Obviously.”
“Oh, really?”
“Need I remind you of the time you threatened to assault your own mother? The numerous times?”
“Ok, right: one, that’s hardly fair, I didn’t know she was my mother; and two, I wouldn’t have actually hurt her, you know that.”
“Couldn’t have, more like. And what about the time you faked a broken leg to avoid training for a day? I think that was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Alright alright, this is all big talk coming from the guy who literally mind controlled a random woman to attack someone they’d just met.”
“After…after you decided to shoot Hamon-infused spaghetti at someone you’d never met.”
Joseph narrowed his eyes. “It was spaghetti al nero di seppia, you hack. But y’know what, fair point.”
Joseph glanced down to examine the bedsheets, apparently contemplating something.
Try as he might to prevent it, an inevitable and painful spasm had clenched Caesar’s heart, and the tears spilled over on their own. He didn’t know what his life was going to look like without this. The comfortable, easy banter that came as naturally as breathing. It would leave an unfillable void.
Joseph looked up again, no doubt noting the new trails of tears on Caesar’s face. Something in Joseph’s expression softened, but Caesar only caught a glimpse before looking down himself, studying the stripes on the bedsheet.
“I just…” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.
A beat of silence, then “Your next line is ‘I’m really going to miss this.’”
“I’m really going to miss—” Caesar sighed, rolling his eyes at Joseph’s cocky smile. “I’m not going to miss that.” He was, but that was hardly the point.
“Liar,” Joseph said. He grinned, before his expression shifted into something softer, more genuine. “C’mon, you’re acting like you’re never gonna see me again.”
“That is… generally how dying works, JoJo.” Well, if anyone could defy the laws of mortality simply for being inconvenient, it would be Joseph Joestar.
“Oh please, nice try, but it ain’t gonna be that simple. I’m gonna haunt your ass so hard.”
Caesar chuckled. He absent-mindedly began rubbing a circle on the back of Joseph’s hand with his thumb. “You’d better. Otherwise I’d be enjoying peace and quiet for the first time in 80 years, and we can’t have that.”
“We most certainly cannot.” Joseph lit up quite suddenly, like a lightbulb had been switched on inside him. “Hey, do y’think Hamon gives you special ghost powers?”
Caesar raised an eyebrow. “Is effectively coming back to life not special enough for you?”
Joseph rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Like, a Star Wars kinda thing.”
“The Force and Hamon are not the same power, JoJo.” Responding to Joseph’s childlike wonder with lifeless, deadpan sincerity had always been entertaining. This time was no different, even if it was the last.
“I know that, duh. But c’mon, you gotta admit, Hamon can do some pretty wild things. It can fight, mind control—as effectively proven by you —it can slow down aging…”
“When you’re not too lazy to practise, that is.”
“I had my reasons and you know it. But think about it – who’s to say Hamon doesn’t also provide some nice afterlife perks?”
Caesar was thinking about it. Not the potential spectral benefits of Hamon, obviously, but about…other things it could do. Quite honestly, he’d been thinking about it since Joseph had first showed signs of his age causing problems, and the thoughts had only increased once Joseph was bed-ridden.
Hamon energy was life energy. So, it was completely within the realm of possibility that enough of it could…reverse a degenerative illness? Hold death at bay, even for just a few months? Maybe?
It was a little unorthodox, but the concept of giving Hamon to someone else definitely had precedent. Family precedent. Hell, Caesar had even done it himself once before, although he hadn’t exactly expected to live to see the consequences, and it had taken a good 6 months for his Hamon to fully return. He’d been rather sick as well – according to Lisa Lisa, he’d probably taken a fair few years off his life expectancy. Hamon wasn’t meant to be expended in such great volume.
It would be risky, of course. But he felt the same way about it now as he had back then.
It would be worth it.
“…Hey.” Caesar took a sudden intense interest in the patch of carpet next to his feet. “…are you…are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“No.” Joseph rarely sounded so blunt, so devoid of levity. He took a deep sigh, switching to a tone more akin to gentle exasperation than anger. “I’ve told you before—I made my choice, long ago…and there’s no way in hell I’m taking even a minute of your life from you.”
“But we…we don’t actually know if it would even have an effect on me, and besides, I’d be more than happy to—”
“Ain’t gonna happen, buddy. Save your Hamon for a rainy day.”
Caesar deflated with a defeated sigh. He pressed his free hand against his face, almost surprised when it came back wet. “…I just…”
“…I know. I’d be doing the same, if you were the one dying.” Joseph squeezed his hand once again, lightly this time. “But, you’ve gotta understand—I didn’t feel right about it back then, and I wouldn’t now. I mean hell, you tried to die for me, because of me, how could I have ever forgiven myself if you’d really…” He shook his head, moving on quickly. “It’s not just that, though. Holly, Jotaro, Jolyne, you – everyone’s happy. I can go out with my mind intact, knowing everyone I love will be ok. Besides, like I said before, this is a rather nice way to go, don’t you think?”
Caesar nodded. Of course, Joseph being right didn’t make the whole thing much easier.
“…Hey,” Joseph said, suddenly hesitant. “Can you…”
Caesar smiled. “Of course I’ll look out for them, il mio idiota. What’d you take me for?” He patted their joined hands. “It’s the least I can do.”
He was expecting Joseph to respond with the typical semi-scathing sarcasm. There was nothing to indicate this particular exchange should be so different from any other that night, so he had no reason to expect a reaction from Joseph outside of the well-trodden norm.
That was an error, of course. He should have known better than to expect predictability from Joseph Joestar.
After several seconds passed with no answer at all, Caesar glanced at his face quickly, a bolt of panic surging through his chest.
Not yet. Please.
Thankfully, he found Joseph just…staring at him. Far from glassy and empty like Caesar had feared, his eyes had softened to a heart-breaking degree, crinkling at the edges to add a whole fleet of tributaries to the already expansive river system of wrinkles.
The sight of it made Caesar’s breath stall. It was rare for anyone to appear like this—cracked open, utterly devoid of protective walls or any kind of façade—regardless of who was there to see it. Full sincerity simply wasn’t human nature. Joseph, especially, had always had a habit of hiding behind a cocky smile and derisive remark, preferring to avoid opening himself up to this level of vulnerability.
But now, his smile brimmed with such sincere, inexpressible fondness that he appeared on the verge of tears. Apparently unable to contain this inexplicable burst of affection, Joseph freed his hand from Caesar’s grasp and placed it on his cheek. The touch was warm and urgent, yet so completely gentle, like a museum curator examining a beautiful, long-lost piece of the utmost value.
Caesar found himself unable to look away.
“’The least you can do?’” Joseph huffed in a disbelieving ghost of a laugh. “You don’t know how much you’ve already done.”
He fell silent, continuing to stare at Caesar like he thought the entire world of him, before finally choking out, “…You’re amazing. You know that, right?”
All Caesar could do was blink at him. He didn’t trust his already unreliable voice to function properly at the moment, and besides, what could he even say to that?
“…I…” he eventually managed, “…what…?”
“You haven’t changed either. Always humble in all the wrong places.” Joseph rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “That aside, I…I need you to do something for me.”
Now that was something he could answer. “Of course. Anything.”
Joseph huffed in another incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “…I need you to enjoy the rest of your life, ya loyal bastard.”
And just like that, Caesar was back on unsteady ground. “…What?”
“Look…” A ghost of sadness passed over Joseph’s face. Something long buried, being abruptly reanimated. “…I…I know this is gonna be tough, alright? I mean God, I thought you were dead for all of a few weeks and it totally wrecked me. I really…I really hate to put you through this again.”
Caesar blinked away the ever-present warm fog, knowing he’d end up getting Joseph’s only hand wet. It seemed like such a trivial thing to focus on. “…JoJo…”
“B-but,” Joseph went on, “you’ve gotta keep going, yeah? Kick life in the ass like the stubborn little Caesarino I know. And don’t ever let yourself feel guilty about it, because you, my friend, have nothing at all to feel guilty for.”
Joseph was clearly speaking from experience. They hadn’t discussed their mutually assumed death much over the years, mostly for the sake of their sanity, but Caesar had heard enough to know that Joseph’s feelings very closely resembled his own—the guilt, the pain, the solid belief that it was entirely their own fault the other had ‘died’.
Of course, Joseph had no reason to feel this way. Caesar never would have blamed him. Even if that piece of ceiling had truly finished him off. Yes, Joseph may have inadvertently provoked him, but the decision to enter the hotel had been his and his alone. Just like the decision to sacrifice his life had been.
His perspective hadn’t changed: when it came to Joseph, almost nothing was too much to ask.
Joseph wanted him to be happy.
Therefore, soul-drainingly difficult though it may prove to be… Caesar wouldn’t let him down.
He reached up to his own face, carefully laying his hand over top of Joseph’s. The warmth provided a courage he may not have otherwise possessed. “…I’ll try.”
“You promise?”
Caesar bit back on the urge to smile. Apparently, age had done nothing to lessen Joseph’s persistence. “I promise. Il mio idiota.”
Joseph nodded, dropping his hand down to the sheet again and dragging Caesar’s along with it. “Good. Hey, maybe you can finally find a woman who’s willing to tolerate you for longer than an afternoon.”
Caesar would have swatted him, had he not been afraid of causing his whole body to cave in. He made do with a trademark disapproving glare. Even if it was definitely closer to pained than scathing, plus became extremely hard to maintain when he saw Joseph’s sun-bright grin of pure evil.
“Well,” said Caesar, “if you can do it, anyone can.”
Joseph actually laughed at that, although the sound was so quavering and choked that it caused another tight twist in Caesar’s chest. Joseph settled back on the cushioned headboard, his tiny frame barely causing the sheets to stir. “Never change, Caesarino,” he muttered, before quietly closing his eyes.
“…JoJo…?”
Joseph shifted, fluttering his eyes open again. He smiled. “Relax, buddy. I’m still here.”
Caesar tried to ignore the pulse of relief recklessly tearing its way down his limbs. “You have got to stop doing that.”
“…Sorry. I’m really fucking tired, honestly. What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s, uh…” Caesar glanced at his watch. “…a little after midnight.”
A weak hissing (evidently Joseph trying to whistle) filled the room. “Damn. Time’s really flown, huh?” He shuffled a little further into the bed. “Well, I think it’s about time I hit the hay. You should too—you’ve got quite the big day tomorrow. Y’know, all things considered.”
Caesar stared at him, disbelieving. “…Are you serious?”
“As a terminal illness.”
Caesar’s glare stopped just short of full-blown lethal. Had Joseph not been dying, Caesar probably would have killed him.
“…Sorry, that’s… that’s not funny. But really though,” he patted the free expanse of bed next to him with what was left of his hand, “you don’t even have to move. Just put your head down there.”
He was actually serious, wasn’t he? Of all the stupid things Joseph had said over the years, this had to be up there as one of his most boneheaded. Why in the hell would Caesar want to throw away what precious little time they had left? And even if he had wanted to, how would sleep be possible in these circumstances?
He didn’t voice any of this, though. His expression of incredulous confusion would be enough for the borderline mind-reading Joseph to figure it out.
Joseph responded by huffing and patting the bed again. “Come onnnnn. You can’t deny my final wish.”
“You’ve had about three of those already.”
“Then just humour me, would you? If it doesn’t work we can bitch about the youth of today till my heart gives out, ok? Just try. Please? For me?”
Damn Joseph and his persuasion skills.
“…Fine. Just don’t expect it to work.” Caesar shuffled his chair forward and laid his head down on the bed, grumbling under his breath at Joseph’s idiocy.
He hadn’t counted on the sheets being so soft. Or the dim light being so soothing. Or his eyelids being so heavy.
Or the familiar warmth of Joseph’s presence making him feel so calm, so safe.
It didn’t take long for him to start dropping off.
As the world blurred and fell to darkness, he felt Joseph release his hand and begin gently smoothing the unruly mess of hair away from his forehead. Just before he slipped away, a voice broke its way through the encroaching fog of sleep.
It may have been weak, and strained, and desperately quiet, but…it was familiar. Sincere.
Home.
“…Ti voglio un mondo di bene,” it whispered.
In his sleep-addled state, Caesar hadn’t recognised the switch in language. “I know that already, idiota,” he slurred, muffled by the bedsheet.
The voice chuckled, a weak, barely audible sound. “Welp. So much for poetic last words.” Caesar felt someone press a light kiss to his forehead. “Sweet dreams, you dumbass.”
And with that, Caesar let sleep drag him down into darkness.
~*~
Hamon, despite being primarily a martial art, had a wide array of uses.
Most of them didn’t matter.
Caesar had sensed it before he’d even opened his eyes.
It was too soon. But it always would be. He would never be prepared, so there was little sense in delaying the inevitable. This time, logic would be stronger than denial. So he opened his eyes.
It didn’t look like Joseph.
He was never meant to look peaceful. Eyes closed, small frozen smile… like his heart had simply stopped mid-dream. Unbothered by his own death in a way no one else could be. He’d probably planned it this way, to prevent Caesar having to watch him fade. Smart. Just like always.
The cliché was wrong, though. He could never be mistaken for sleeping.
Maybe it was because of Caesar’s Hamon-heightened senses. Maybe it was because Joseph’s spark had always been sun bright. But it was clear from just a glance that this was only a shell. No soul lived there anymore.
Joseph was dead.
And the world felt empty.
How easy it would have been to stay in this moment. Forget the world. Ignore the burden of responsibility, of decades upon decades left to live. Follow grief’s siren song into the woods and stay lost there, dark and deep and impossible to penetrate.
But no.
Tempting as it was, it would be a betrayal.
He had a family to support. A life to live.
Promises to keep.
And breaking them wasn’t an option. Joseph would never allow it. Because even if he was dead…he wasn’t gone. He never would be. Nobody just disappears, like they’d never existed at all. Not if they left even the faintest impact. The tiniest scratch. Even one person who remembered them. Caesar understood that now.
Ultimately, Joseph had managed to become more of an immortal than anything he’d fought. How very typical—ever one step ahead, even from beyond the veil.
If Joseph could pull off something like that, Caesar could cope with such a universal experience as grief. It wouldn’t be easy, but that was true of anything involving Joseph. So, if this time was like all the others...it would be worth it too. In the end. However far away that may be.
Of course, it was perfectly possible that this certainty wouldn’t last. In fact, it was probable. Caesar had enough experience with grief to recognise the initial numb. The eery empty that faded to despair. There wasn’t always a choice—sometimes, grief dragged you kicking and screaming into the darkness of the woods, and left you reeling and alone with seemingly no means of escape.
But there had always been a way out. If he could find the light. And luckily, Caesar had his very own obnoxiously bright ray of sunshine to guide the way—dimmed, but still there, Always there.
He would be alright. Someday. And that was fine—he had nothing but time, after all.
Maybe it was a bizarre coping mechanism, or maybe he was just plain manic…but inexplicably, Caesar found himself smiling. He inched forward until he was perched on the edge of the bed, and reached out to brush a silver wisp of hair away from Joseph’s permanently frozen face.
“Sogni d’oro, il mio idiota,” he whispered, pressing a feather-light kiss to his forehead. “Sogni d’oro.”