Work Text:
1881
Dio sits in the back of the carriage, his late father’s briefcase clutched tightly in his hands. What he’s doing is ridiculous. It will never, ever work. Dio sits there, shivering, running through the plan over and over in his mind. It has to work. It has to. But what if they find him out? Dio steels himself by remembering that he has absolutely nothing to lose. When you’re already in the pits of hell, the only place left to go is Up.
The carriage slows, and Dio pushes aside the curtains with one hand. The sunlight streams in. Dio sees the grandest mansion that he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. His new home. For the first time in many years, Dio feels like a scared little girl.
1870
Estella does not know what her first memory was. She has a vague awareness that she is three years old, but she doesn't know how long a year is. How long is a year? When will she be older? How do you age? But it’s impossible to move forward when each and every day is the same.
Estella’s mother had always told her that her name meant “star”. That Estella was so bright and lit up her whole world. Apparently, she hadn’t been quite bright enough to stop her mum from offing herself. Da said that Mum was sickly, but Estella knew it wasn’t true. The only sickness was her dependence on that good-for-nothing drunkard.
Estella was three the first time she saw Da hit her mum. Mum never screamed nor cried. She just picked herself up and got back to work. Estella never understood why Mum didn’t just leave. How could she allow this to happen? Why wouldn’t she just go?
1872
One day, Da hit Mum and she didn’t get back up. Da always said that Mum was sickly, but she never seemed that way to Estella. Mum was always kind. She brushed Estella’s hair and mended her clothes. But no matter how many times Estella asked why she stayed, Mum never answered. And no matter how many times Estella begged Mum to leave and take her away, she never did.
When Mum died, the doctor ruled it an overdose. They found pills in Mum’s overcoat. Da insisted that they were the pills for Mum’s illness. Da said to dispose of the pills, but Estella secretly slipped him into her pocket. She wasn’t sure why, but she just couldn’t part with them.
Da didn’t even cry at the funeral.
Although she didn’t know it, Estella was five the first time that Da had hit her. Her cheek stung and her eyes welled up with tears. At that moment, Estella found a tiny piece of herself despising Mum. Sweet, kind Mum. Mum, who kicked the bucket and left a five-year-old girl to defend herself against a madman. Estella made a pact with herself then and there. She was never going to cry again. She wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction.
1873
In the year after Mum died, Estella’s hair matted and her clothes grew torn. Mum had taught her the basics of sewing, but Estella often found that she just couldn’t muster the inner strength to do it.
On the good days, Da would pass out drunk and Estella could sneak out. She learned quickly that London wasn’t kind to little girls. For the first time since Mum’s death, Estella took out sewing supplies. She sewed one of her shabby old too-small frocks into her first pair of trousers. They weren’t good, but they worked.
So Estella would tuck her hair up into a cap, pull on her trousers and a shirt that she had nicked off of a boy in town, and head out for the day. London wasn’t much kinder to little boys than it was to little girls, but at least people took her seriously when she hid her gender.
Estella quickly realized that the best way to avoid being hit by Da was just to avoid Da. She would stay out all day until she was sure he had passed out drunk. This worked on most days, and on the days that it did not, well, there wasn’t anything she could do about that.
1874
Now, at seven years old, Estella was becoming familiar with the regulars at a pub she often visited. For months she just sat and watched as drunk men played chess and took each other’s money, and she watched the ensuing brawls. She observed well, and she learned how to fight with both her mind and her fists.
Estella would fight the boys in the town centre and win. She would earn a few shillings playing chess against the men in the pub, and then expertly dodge their punches when they insisted that she was cheating.
Of course, she couldn’t always dodge. On one such occasion, she sat on the floor of the pub with a handkerchief held up to her nose to stop the bleeding.
“Yer a bright lad,” the barkeep said. “Why aren’t you in school? Do something useful with that brain o’ yours? You don’ want to end up like me,” he chided.
“Da would never pay for it,” Estella replied. “He says it’s all a waste of time. That all I need to know how to do is work.”
The barkeep scoffed. “Ridiculous. He’s jus’ scared his little son is smarter’n him, is all. Here, I’ll cut you a deal. I didn’t do much school, but I can teach you what I did learn. In return, you have to give me any money you make off o’ my customers. Yea?”
Estella nodded fervently. This man had just given her a new direction in life.
Every day, she would wake up before her Da and head to the pub. She would learn to read or do basic arithmetic, she would be fed a simple meal, and then she would play chess. She would always hand her earnings over to the barkeep before heading back home.
1878
Estella was doing incredibly well in her studies. She was a bit beyond what most boys her age would have been learning, and she could tell that the barkeep was running out of material.
And she started noticing changes in herself, too. Her body was sprouting hair in places it hadn’t been before, and her chest was beginning to grow as well. Not noticeably, yet, but enough that it had begun to make her feel sick. Whenever she looked at her body, she felt nausea well up inside of her. This woman in the mirror couldn’t possibly be her. It was wrong. Because, well, she was still just a boy, and boys don’t just become women.
Although she told herself that she was in no way a woman, her womanly skills had improved markedly since she had sewn her first pair of trousers. She made all of her clothes now, either tailoring Da’s old clothes that she knew he wouldn’t miss or else one of her old frocks that were no longer suitable.
Estella was spending more and more time at the pub. She won more and more money for the barkeep, and her list of enemies grew and grew.
Most of the people that Estella beat at chess would swear, throw down the money, and stomp out of the bar. Occasionally they would insist that she cheated, but no one could ever prove it. It was thrilling.
But one day, it turned violent. Having just been beaten, Estella’s opponent stood up from the table and marched towards her.
“Son of a bitch ,” he said. “No little boy just beat me! Fucking cheats in this pub! No one gets the best of me, especially not some…” At this point, the man shoved Estella’s chest roughly. “Some GIRL ?” He screamed.
If he was already angry before, now he was livid. His face turned bright red as he ripped the cap off of Estella’s head. Her long blonde hair tumbled down, and her eyes widened with terror. She glanced over at the barkeep for help, but having seen that she’d been lying to him, the barkeep glared and turned away. The man that Estella just beat at chess grinned maniacally and started backing Estella into the corner.
Before he could do anything, Estella grabbed the money she made off of the table and bolted through the door. She ran off into the night and didn’t look back.
She had never felt more sick in her life. Being perceived as a girl was more than she could handle. She collapsed onto the side of the road and sobbed for the first time in years. She had given in to her weakness, broke her own pact. Not one person stopped to ask what was wrong. When Estella managed to calm down some, she pocketed her small change and headed back home to Da.
At this moment she decided. Estella couldn’t be a girl anymore. Estella was never a girl. Estella was a boy, and he needed a fresh start to prove it.
At home, Estella sheared off his hair. It was now short and boyish. He then found tight cloth to bind his chest and make the shape of his body more masculine.
And a new life needed a new name. Mum always said that Estella was named after the stars, but now he needed to surpass the stars. Attain heaven. Remake the world in his image.
And what could be higher than the stars but G-d himself?
And so Dio Brando was born.
1879
London is big. Dio didn’t have to search too hard to find a new pub to haunt. This new one was on the other side of town. It was bigger and louder, and no one knew his face (or better yet, his secret).
Dio played chess, he made money, and he learned. He fought more and he won more. He gathered information through bargains, bets, or extortion. He learned the ways to succeed in London.
As he established himself solidly in the darker parts of London, he learned about a peculiar medicine. One that sounded oddly familiar. It makes your body weak. You’re constantly lightheaded. You are plagued by headaches and a cough. By the time you realize it’s not just a common cold, you’re already too sick to be healed. One pill per day for a month and a half, and you’re guaranteed to end up dead in a ditch.
It sounded exactly like what happened to Mum.
Dio’s resolve hardened then and there. Da had to go. He was useless. An awful drunkard. An abuser and almost certainly a murderer. He did nothing but inhibit Dio’s grand vision from day one. And now, in a month and a half, he’ll be gone.
There are many things for sale at Wang Chan’s shop. Very few of them are legal. And although many of London’s most unsavoury characters come through at one point or another, very few of them capture Wang Chan’s attention.
But this little boy walks in, radiating power, asking for a very rare and highly specific poison. Wang Chan is enraptured. From his poise to the three moles on his ear, it’s clear that this boy is going places, and Wang Chan wants to be there to see it. He gives the poison to the boy free of charge and tells the boy to think of him when he needs similar services again. The boy nods and leaves.
Dio smiles as he steps out of the Chinese medicine store. In his hand are pills nearly identical to the ones he pocketed after Mum’s death. The universe smiles upon him. His message truly is the righteous one. Dio will win and spread his glory. This is a sign. He will not waver, his determination will not falter. He is G-d.
1880
Dario Brando falls dead. Dio spits on his grave. He walks away without turning back.
1881
Dio’s luck holds. It appears that Dario Brando has managed to do one useful thing at the end of his life. Some moronic bourgeois prick managed to convince himself that good-for-nothing Dario Brando saved his life. At the end of his life, Dario wrote a letter to the man (George Joestar; even his name sounds ridiculously rich), asking that he please take in Dario’s daughter. Before sending it, Dio carefully rewrote the letter and changed the language as appropriate.
The universe continues to smile on Dio, for George Joestar will take him in. Dio’s plan is going incredibly smoothly. Dio packs his belongings. George sends a carriage to pick Dio up and bring him to his new home. George has a son, Jonathan, close to Dio’s age. He hopes that they will get along. Dio has decided that they won’t. This Jonathan cannot get in his way. The world needs to change, and Dio will sacrifice anything to see it done.
Dio sits in the back of the carriage, his late father’s briefcase clutched tightly in his hands. What he’s doing is ridiculous. It will never, ever work. Dio sits there, shivering, running through the plan over and over in his mind. It has to work. It has to. But what if they find him out? Dio steels himself by remembering that he has absolutely nothing to lose. When you’re already in the pits of hell, the only place left to go is Up.
The carriage slows, and Dio pushes aside the curtains with one hand. The sunlight streams in. Dio sees the grandest mansion that he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. His new home. For the first time in many years, Dio feels like a scared little girl.