Chapter Text
Let’s make things clear: you know exactly what’s going on pretty quickly.
You watch a lot of anime. Like, a lot of it. As much as you hate the Isekai genre and how 90% of it seems to be nerd-ass male power fantasies, you definitely see the potential in someone relatable being thrown into a fantastical world.
You definitely freak out - don’t kid yourself, it’s fucking absurd. It shouldn’t be possible, but it is, because it just happened to you. But you’re not about to go make a fool of yourself over it, because you’ve seen this before, even if it was in an overly sexual and poorly written seasonal anime you pirated.
At first, you assume that you’ve time traveled. It’s the logical assumption - everyone talks and dresses old-timey, and you’re for some reason living above a haberdasher in a janky apartment with floral yellow wallpaper and an ancient looking cast iron gas stove that’s within 3 feet of your bed. So. Yeah. Time travel.
The status quo changes slightly as you’re shoveling some flavorless steak pudding into your mouth at the pub across the street from your apartment. That’s sort of been your go-to, since you don’t know that you trust yourself to buy food that won’t kill you, and this was the first place you tried going to for food, and you had good-enough luck that you weren’t going to chance it by testing any new waters. Mulligan’s was good enough, thank you. Even if it was the worst food you’d ever tasted, you figured that was a general, across-the-board poor Victorian England sort of thing, and not really the fault of… er, Mulligan.
You’re taking a sip from your glass of bad ale to your lips (you were not taking a chance with the water here, you barely trusted it enough to bathe in it, let alone drink it) when you overhear the conversation happening to your direct left. Someone mentions something about George Joestar, and your brain fucking blue-screens on you as you do a full comedic spit-take all over your food and the newspaper in front of you.
The men next to you throw you dirty looks, but you don’t care enough because you’re dragging your cotton sleeve across your mouth and recalibrating your entire existence.
Right. Okay. Moving things around. Not just Victorian England, Victorian England in Jojo’s Bizarre Fucking Adventure. Okay. Cool. Right.
Phantom Blood, right? It had to be.
You react slightly better than someone else might have, cleaning up your mess and waving dismissively to Mulligan, who thanks you as you take your dishes into the back to dump into his poor excuse for a sink. You think you’ve become his favorite customer, since you’ve been coming twice a day for the past week and a half, don’t vomit all over his floors, and even clean up after yourself. He’s becoming your backup plan, because Victorian-You only has so much money and you sort of need a job.
You head home, worming your key out of the rot-caused hole in the wall as you unlock your door. You’re greeted with the increasingly familiar musty smell as you kick the door closed, sit down on your bed, and groan.
Okay. Right. Phantom Blood. Coolio.
Just as that series of words crosses your mind, you hear the soft sound of paper hitting the floor. You sit up, blinking at the envelope that’s fallen through your mail slot. You’ve never gotten mail before. You rise to your feet, scooping up the envelope and tearing it open. Inside is a single sheet of paper, with a note written in swoopy black ink that makes you narrow your eyes.
Prevent Dio Brando from digging his own grave.
You stare at it. You close your eyes. You sigh.
This might as well be happening.
---
Your first order of business is to actually find Dio. Which proves not to be that hard.
You’re not fully knowledgeable on the timeline of Phantom Blood, but you know from the newspapers that it’s September of 1879, and you think that’s before the events of the series really kicked off. So, hey, at least you don’t have to loiter around Joestar mansion until Dio walks out of the door.
Your knowledge of the town you live in is literally limited to the block you live on, and your memory of the series tells you that you can probably find Dio at a place like Mulligans, and if you’re lucky, literally at Mulligans. The first thing you do is ask Mulligan himself, asking him if he’s seen a Dio Brando or otherwise just a pretty blonde boy with yellow eyes and three moles on his ear. Your favorable description puts an expression on Mulligan’s face that is akin to the one your dad makes whenever you mention a boy, and you think you physically whither. You decide not to mention the fact that Dio is like, 12 right now, and continue pressing Mulligan until he shrugs and says he “may have been around once or twice” which is… slightly useless.
You don’t know if it’s chance or if it’s a preplanned story beat like a video game, but literally the first pub you show up at the next night gives you exactly what you’re looking for. You blink at the boy as he stands in the corner, looking warily around the room as he tucks a few coins into his pockets.
Oh. Aw! He’s so cute! You had anticipated that he’d be a nice looking kid, but you were right on the money with your pretty description to Mulligan. If anything, you hadn’t expected little Dio to have such a baby face. He’s tall, especially for someone his age, but he’s got an angelic little face that maternal instincts you didn’t even know you had flare up like the fire at the Library of Alexandria.
Unfortunately for you, Dio is a perceptive little rat and notices your staring pretty soon. He narrows golden (golden!!) eyes on you like he thinks you’re going to lunge at him, and you admit your loss at being caught and throw him a smile and a wave. That apparently catches him pretty off guard, because he freezes and stares at you like a deer in headlights. You bite back a grin, and wander over to the bar in a silent invitation for him to follow you. Surprisingly, he does. You ask if they serve meals, and when you get an affirmative you ask for two bowls of vegetable-stew. You don’t imagine it’ll be any good, it’ll probably taste pretty dog food adjacent actually, but it’s not like Mulligans is any better.
Dio approaches you with a furrow in his brow and a pretty severe glare directed your way, and you grin at him. He’s about your height, so you can’t even imagine how tall he’ll be when he actually hits puberty. (Maybe he already has? Well, he’s probably like, mid-puberty. You hope not. If his voice cracks, you’re not going to be able to stop from pissing yourself laughing.)
“What do you want?” he asks, guarded. You almost die. His little voice! His little accent! He’s so adorable.
“Someone to dine with, hopefully. You better not have eaten yet, or this will be really awkward for me.” you say. He frowns at you.
“Are you a woman ?” he asks, and you think you actually start withering away this time.
In all honesty, it’s a fair question. You had a healthy mix of women’s and men’s clothes in your closet when you woke up here, and in light of being fully unable to figure out any of the women’s clothing, you were more than content with donning a nice suit-and-boot combo. Your pride is slightly wounded that neither your face or figure didn’t give it away before your voice did, but oh well.
“Definitely am.” you say, giving him a flat smile. He stares at you, before humming in assent. You don’t know what that means, but you’re not going to think about it too hard. There’s a long moment of silence as the barkeep places down the two bowls of stew, and you slide one over to Dio. He appears to do a double-take, and though he doesn’t actually ask you any clarifying questions, you can practically see the cogs turning as he reassesses the situation in his mind. You merely look right back at him as you lift a spoonful to your mouth. It is exactly as bad as you thought it would be.
“I haven’t.” he says eventually, before grabbing his own spoon.
“Hm?”
“Eaten yet, I mean.” he says, and his face when he tastes the stew makes your lip quirk up into a smile. You’d think that he would be less visibly phased by it considering the fact that he’s probably more used to it than you, who's been eating like this for a whopping 11 days, but apparently not. Maybe he was meant to be an aristocrat.
“This stew sucks, doesn’t it?” you ask, stirring around a carrot. You’re pretty sure this is just water with vegetables in it, and maybe like, a bit of bone marrow. You miss fast food. Dio scoffs.
“Mm. It isn’t as if there are any other options for people like us.” he says, and there’s a look of embittered passion in his eyes that you don’t think you’ve ever seen on an actual person before. You’re taken aback for a moment, before you shrug.
“That’s true. But hey, I’m sure you’ll work your way out of this place one day.” you say, and it’s literally inspirational poster levels of BS, but he levels you with a sharp look anyways.
“So you see it too?” he questions, expression severe.
“Uh.” you say, eloquently. He clenches his jaw like he’s holding himself back from insulting your intelligence.
“My potential .” he clarifies. Oh, lord. That’s not even sort of what you said, or implied, and you don’t know what sort of mental gymnastics he just did to reach that conclusion.
“Right, that. Yeah.” you say, and you’re not sure how smart of a move it is. Apparently pretty smart, because he flashes a wicked smirk towards you, letting out a self satisfied hum. He turns back to his stew, and you turn back to yours, yet again organizing all your new revelations about him in your mind.
---
This little interaction was apparently enough to peak his interest. You’re not sure how he did it, but he’d tracked you down to Mulligans by asking around about you. It’s convenient, at the very least, since you had planned to do a little stalking of your own anyways.
You’re reading the newspaper again one night when he appears right in front of you and just takes a seat. You blink at him, lowering the paper and glancing at Mulligan, who, by the look on his face, seems to have a realization that this is the boy you had been asking about.
“Good evening.” you say, slightly bemused as you sip your glass of ale.
“Yes, good evening.” he says in a tone that’s entirely rude, but you also don’t particularly care because it’s not like you’d ever exchanged good evenings with anyone before you got here.
“You, uh, need something?” you ask, and he squints at you, drumming his fingers on the table. You squint as well, but mostly because the lighting is shit and he’s looking a little dim.
“I never repaid your kindness.” he says, and his tone is chilly enough that you instantly know he’s testing you. You’re surprised you catch on to that, actually, and you stare at him blankly with your lips parted in surprise for a moment.
“For the food?” you ask incredulously, and he gives an affirmative nod. His gaze is calculating. “Oh, don’t worry about that! I never meant to get anything out of it.” you say, raising your hands in a placating gesture. He doesn’t look to believe you for a second.
“Well, if not for you, then for me. It would bring me peace of mind, so I insist.” he continues, leaning forward slightly. You stare at him, and place your glass down with a clink, a bit of it sloshing over the side and running between your fingers.
“You know what? Sure. If you really want to repay me, how about you join me on a little walk.” you say. He looks satisfied with himself, but still wary, and nods sharply. You push yourself to your feet, and offer a half-hearted wave to Mulligan as you lead Dio outside.
You roll your shoulder, glancing over at him. He’s shoving his hands into his pockets, and looking at you like he thinks you’re going to shank him. That’s not… surprising, but it’s weird to be leveled with that sort of look. You snort, and continue down the road. It’s not exactly pleasant walking around here, mainly because it smells intensely of factory fumes and sewage, and you’re especially not used to it. You miss the Clean Air Act.
“What’s your name?” you ask him, and you think you do an earnest job feigning ignorance. He side-eyes you.
“Dio Brando. And you’re (Y/N).” he says, looking proud of himself for knowing that. You give him an encouraging smile, and he frankly looks like he’s been hit by a bus by being on the receiving end of it. That kind of makes your heart hurt, and you resist the urge to ruffle his hair.
“I think I’ve got a couple of spare shillings on me. Want to run to the confectioner's?” you ask, vaguely remembering seeing one when you had gone to look for a new pub to seek out Dio in. He doesn’t look particularly excited, but he doesn’t look so distrusting anymore either. His expression is odd, a mix of confusion and what you think is hope. Your gaze softens, you feel it in the way your eyebrows draw together and the way your smile crosses your face almost unconsciously. Dio looks away, and nods sharply.
“I suppose.” he says, and you consider this a win.
---
The next time you see Dio is when you’re working. You had been right, and soon enough you needed money. Mulligans was there, and you were right to have it as your backup plan. He hired you without much preamble, and even though the pay was alarmingly low, he had said you could eat free, so you were sort of fine with it.
There was also a dress code, which meant you actually had to start dressing like a woman - at least when working. It wasn’t that bad, actually, since the stove made the back of the pub inordinately hot, and your fleece and cotton coats didn’t exactly leave much breathing room. The uniform you were provided was actually much thinner than any of the dresses you owned at home, and it was definitely easier to move around in, so you don’t end up minding all that much.
Anyways - Dio, right.
You step out of the back sweaty, but alive, grabbing yourself a plate of meat and veggies that you prepared a bit earlier. You’ve basically nagged Mulligan into letting you take lunch breaks, and you hop right onto the bar with your plate in your lap as you eat. You swing your legs, brushing back your hair and biting back a smile at the way Mulligan smacks a patron who’s trying to come onto you with a towel.
You’re in the middle of chewing an ambiguous piece of meat that you suspect is an organ of some kind when a figure slides into your peripheral.
You glance over, and you’re barely surprised that it’s Dio. You smile at him, and gesture to the stool closest to you. He slides into it, looking you over with narrowed eyes.
“What’s up?” you ask.
“My father…” Dio begins, and doesn’t finish the thought, as he scowls and stares at the bar. You frown at him. His dad was definitely part of the reason he got all fucked up and evil, right? So…
“ I don’t know your situation,” you lie. “But if you ever need to just… get away, my door will always be open to you.” you say, rehearsing a line that your high school guidance counselor had told you once, word for word.
Bingo! Dio looks up at you, and his expression isn’t one that you’d have even thought you’d ever see on his face. It’s that hope you had seen earlier, but displayed tenfold. You do reach over this time, and he flinches for a second, before stilling himself and looking at you with a determined gaze. You slowly place your hand in his hair, mussing around the blonde locks. When you retract your hand, his hair refuses to settle, continuing to stick up in all directions. You smile.
---
You think it’s working.
After that, Dio had gotten particularly clingy. He was still quiet - much quieter than you would have thought he’d be, but you don’t think it’s about wariness anymore. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, which doesn’t surprise you, and is also pretty convenient, since he doesn’t ask you much about yourself.
It goes from him showing up at Mulligans every now and then, to starting to trail after you when you cross the street to your apartment. 3 out of 7 days of your week are spent basically rooming with Dio, even though your apartment is literally one room and also a massive fire hazard. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, and you know for a fact that he’s poor, but you’re pretty sure the actual series showed that his house was at least a littl e bigger than your little hamster cage.
You don’t mind, though, and sometimes you wake up in the morning to find that he’s left a few shillings on your bedside table from whatever he runs off to do at night. You always try to give it back to him, and he always refuses.
“Seriously, at this rate I’m not even going to need work anymore. Looks like you’ve gotten all my funds taken care of.” you say teasingly, slipping the coins into the small shoebox you keep all of your money in. You’re sort of promising to yourself that you’ll use it to buy him something nice one day, before he runs off to go live lavishly with the Joestars.
He remains silent at your joke, and you toss him a glance, because usually he at least offers you an annoyed scoff or a pity snort. Right now, he’s sort of just giving you an intense look, and you’re thoroughly wigged out.
“Good.” he says, finally, with a particular glint in his eye. You smile at him, before that smile freezes on your face.
Wait, what the hell does that mean?
---
On Christmas day, you sort of just hope Dio just shows up, because it’s not like the two of you preplan your little sleepovers.
Luckily for you, he does.
You hear a knock on your door, and you grin as you pull it open. Dio stands in front of you with a severe expression on his face, and your grin falters. His lip is busted, and there’s a blossoming bruise on his cheekbone. You open your mouth, but he shoves past you before you can say anything.
You sigh, and grab a tin tankard from your little kitchenette area, walking over to your window. You push it open with great difficulty, before placing the little mug on the windowsill and shutting the window again. Dio watches you curiously, and you turn back around to him.
“You don’t want to talk about it?” you assume.
“No.” Dio says, simply. You nod.
“Then we won't. I’ve got something for you.” you say, ignoring the marginally surprised look on his face as you go digging through your closet.
“You…” he begins, and you smile at him over your shoulder. You bring out the gift you’ve effectively wrapped in an apron, and shake it around excitedly. Dio stares at you, before digging into his own pocket, and brandishing a little maroon colored box.
“I got you something as well.” he says, and you blink at him in equal surprise to the look he gave you earlier. He smirks at you, and you roll your eyes.
You shove your own gift into his arms, and he hands you the little box.
He stares at you. You stare at him.
“You go first.” you say, practically bouncing out of your seat. He concedes, easily unwrapping your shitty apron concealment bullshit as he pulls out his gift, which is loosely wrapped in cheesecloth. He furrows his brows, and slowly unwraps it.
Inside is a blue wool suit, well tailored with elegant pleats running down the chest. There’s a matching pair of pants, and a silk red tie. The quality is visibly better than anything you’ve ever seen Dio wear, and he looks up at you, gaping like a fish out of water.
“Like it?” you ask, and then Dio basically lunges at you. You make an alarmed noise, flailing a bit embarrassingly as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your collarbone.
What. WHAT.
Isn’t this, like, OOC? You definitely have never seen Dio as a hugger, and you really don’t know what to do for a while, until he begins to tense. You belatedly realize that it’s because you haven’t moved to hug him back, and quickly do so before he rescinds his affections and runs out of your apartment like a heartbroken maiden. He relaxes immediately, and you bring your hand into his hair.
After a moment, you basically push him away from you, and his expression is complicated. You smile at him, and squeeze his baby fat ridden cheek between your fingers. You've never done that before, but it’s just as rewarding as you’d always thought it’d be, because he instantly goes beet red. Might as well do it now, because you’re pretty sure that’s all going to be gone once he grows up and reaches the typical marble statue Adonis status of every male character in this series.
“I’m not patient enough for this.” you say, before grabbing your gift off of your bed, and pull off the little lid.
Your lips part in surprise. Inside is a little set: a necklace, earrings, and a ring. They all look similar, with silver chains and filigree oval frames, completed with white ceramic insets with floral designs painted on. You’re not… entirely sure how much this may have cost him, but you know it was probably a lot. You look up at him, snapping the box close and holding out your arms.
“Come here before I start ugly crying.” you say, and he looks very proud of himself when he steps into your overenthusiastic hug.
You later retrieve the tin mug from your windowsill, and after wrapping the now-cold thing in cloth, you tell him to hold it to his cheek where the bruise is forming. You two sit on your bed and watch the snow, and you tell him a story that you 100% stole from a God-awful Hallmark movie. He seems pretty charmed by it though, so it’s a win-win.
---
Dario Brando dies.
Yay , you think when Dio tells you, but refrain from actually verbalizing that because you’re pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well. You’re finally in territory of “the plot,” and you can only hope that you’ve done at least a little good. Dio tells you that he’s going to move in with the Joestars.
“Hey, look at that. Didn’t I tell you that you’d eventually get out of here?” you ask, grinning at him. He grins right back at you, before it sort of fizzles away, and his jaw tightens.
“You must visit.” he says, and you gasp, sitting up straight.
“Did you think that I wasn’t going to visit? You’re like, my only friend!” you say, which is probably a little sad, because your only friend is 13. But he’s also Dio Fucking Brando , so maybe that evens out the scales. Still, a 13 year old is a 13 year old, and your reputation may never recover. Your internalized whining means you miss the worryingly pleased expression that your words worm out of Dio, so go you .
“Oh, is Mulligan not your friend? I’ll let him know.” he says, and you swat at him like a cat, but he dodges pretty easily.
“Don’t even think about it. You know he’ll cut my pay.” you say, narrowing your eyes. Mulligan may like you, but it was still 1880 and it wasn’t like there was anything stopping him from being a shit boss occasionally.
Dio hums, before he places down the cup of (awful) tea you had prepared for him, and walks over to your bed, laying down beside you. You drop yourself onto your back as well, crossing your hands over your stomach. You turn your head towards him, and he does the same, and you nearly burst out laughing when your noses touch. Dio rolls his eyes as you snicker, and you scoot backwards so you’re not all up in his personal space.
“I’ll miss you.” you say sincerely, because you really have begun to enjoy his company. And also because you know you won’t be able to visit all that often, and there was a fucking time-skip in the series, which means you’re about to have a few very boring years.
“Indeed,” he says, and you narrow your eyes because you’re not sure if he’s saying he’ll miss you too or that he already knows you’ll miss him. Feasibly, it could be either. “I’ll write to you, as well. Perhaps you could also come for the holidays. I’m sure they have several spare rooms.” he says, and the bitterness in his voice is just as clear as his anticipation. You laugh nervously, and then abruptly stop when you suddenly remember the dog. The fucking dog . You had forgotten about Danny because he was pretty low on the priority list when you basically have to reform Dio all by yourself, but now you’re thinking about the actual series of events - and how could you have forgotten? You love dogs, and this bitch just burns one alive! Okay, okay. Damage control. Damage control before the damage even happens.
“You know what? People as wealthy as the Joestars always have dogs. You’ve gotta tell me if they have any - I just love them.” you say, and give him a smile. That declaration definitely came out of nowhere, but Dio doesn’t seem to think twice about it. His eyes flash a little, and he looks at you with a determined expression on his face. You don’t know why , but it’s better than any murderous darkenings of the face that you could’ve gotten instead.
“Of course.” he says, nodding once. Well. You hope that’s enough, and look back at the ceiling as you toy aimlessly with the necklace you’re wearing - the one Dio gave you.
You’re too busy hoping really hard that he doesn’t hurt the dog that you totally fail to notice the intense way he’s staring at you.
---
Dio visits you the night before he’s supposed to leave, and you’re effectively a mess. This must have been what your mom felt like sending you off to college. You pinch his cheeks and your eyes definitely get a little watery, and you’re pretty surprised that he lets you kiss his forehead. (If he seems way too pleased about that, you’re just not going to think too hard about it.)
“In five months, I’ll be able to afford a coach to visit. I’ll see you then, okay?” you say. Dio stares at you, before nodding like he’s a soldier that’s just been told a battle plan. You squeal and shake him back and forth by the shoulders. He’s so cute!
“Ugh, I’ll miss you!” you say, and hug him. He allows it, and hugs you back pretty tightly.
“Indeed.” he says again, and there’s an undercurrent of something in his tone that makes you feel unsettled.
…
Whatever. As long as he doesn’t go and incinerate any dogs, you could care less.