JJBA ONESHOTS

(Dio&Jonathan)Silverware

<Spoilers for pt.1 character personalities and backstories>

Description-

Dio and Jonathan go to an orchard and some unexpected things occur.

---

   The plush down blankets twist uncomfortably around a young Dio's frame as the boy lets out a low groan and rolls onto his side to prevent the sunlight from pressing onto his eyes. Adjusting his position a bit more, Dio finally finds the right position. Good. Lovely. Glorious. Now he can...go..back...to..sl..e..p...

A pair of birds tweet and sing on his windowsill.

This...with a grit of his teeth Dio pulls a pillow over his head and tugs the blankets higher.

Then more birds come—so many that the outside of his window must be a fucking circus, because there's no other reason for there to be so much noise. Dio's eyes snap open revealing bloodthirsty amber irises. The delicate down blanket goes flying to the foot of the bed as Dio springs up; his frame is practically quivering with cold fury. A fist is raised, it moves to strike the glass.

It stops just short of a shattered window and blood-stained glass-splintered hands. Dio takes a deep breath, uncurls his fist, closes his eyes, thinks of the shiny silver dinnerware downstairs, opens his eyes, locks away his fury, and tells himself there's no point in being angry.

With that over, Dio decides that there's no chance in the possibility of sleeping any longer. It's fine, probably. He didn't need any more sleep in the first place. In fact, there are far more important things to do. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, breakfast will start soon.

So Dio goes over to his dresser, shoves the drawer open, and skims the wear. It's unfamiliar, to change what he wears every day. He no longer scampers around in grease-covered shirts that reek of unwash and stick to his body as if doused in pinesap. And that's nice, really nice. It's novel and new and Dio doesn't like much, but he thinks he likes this.

It's only been a few weeks here, but yes, really, Dio does think he likes it in the Joestar manor.

Anyway, breakfast. There's no use in thinking about what-was; all that matters is what will happen not what already has.

When Dio is done donning his clothes: pitch black leggings and a white shirt with cuffed sleeves that tickle strangely on his wrists. And they look even stranger with their clean cuts and soft white fabric. (Real white! Not stained with yellows or browns!) He opens his door—it doesn't creak—and begins his walk downstairs.

The servants, his servants, seem to be bustling around more than usual today. They walk on fast feet, carrying blankets and plates and little stacks of paper. Briefly, Dio wonders why, wonders if he should ask why. Decides against it, the information will come to him soon enough, he's sure of it.

The dining room is bland, and when he arrives George is already sitting at the head. No Jonathan, though. Jonathan will probably be late to breakfast, Dio notes with a glimmer of satisfaction.

George smiles. "Ah! Dio, it's lovely to see you this morning."

Dio returns the smile, bends his lips up, attempts to crinkle his eyes. It's a smile, but there's something missing. "Yes, good morning, Mr. Joestar."

"Please," George waves his hand, "call me father."

Dio pulls out a chair, sits down. His smile is still missing something and, "Of course, father."

The silverware gleams a bright metallic sheen under the morning light.

-

"C'mon baby! You can do it." The woman coos, pushing a little fork of mush towards the baby's mouth.