Chapter Text
1.
There was a spiderweb in the dark corner on the ceiling of the hospital room, and if Caesar squinted, he could almost make out the tiny eight-legged monstrosity working on it.
Or he had begun seeing things from being stuck in bed for too long.
How long exactly he wasn’t sure, since all he remembered of his time here were foggy fragments as he dipped in and out of consciousness with little control, but every second spent not being able to move freely added fuel to his already burning frustration.
Either way, Caesar should have jumped out the window and rushed over to join Lisa Lisa and Joseph the moment he had resurfaced from his coma. Not that he didn’t try. It was just that he had passed out and almost killed himself (again) before he could get himself upright, much to the doctors’ and nurses’ dismay.
Then the next time he had opened his eyes, Suzie had been there and, seeing him awake, had given him a teary scolding that made him tear up, too.
Suzie, being a better friend than Caesar deserved, had stayed by his side and taken good care of him when he, with his inability to even pay attention to the doctor’s instructions, had been nothing helpful. And so soon after her awful encounter with Esidisi, too. Yet she had never complained and had instead always tried her best to help him.
The least he could do for her was to stay put and not cause her more trouble.
But staying put was becoming more and more troubling for Caesar as the absence of any news from Joseph and Lisa Lisa grew. It was all he could think about (aside from the persistent whole-body pain smothering him). And no news meant bad news. Because why else would Suzie, who was always filling him in on the news and what she did, saw, and heard, not talk about the one thing she knew was on his mind? And Caesar knew she’d deflect and go on tangents even if he could string together a coherent sentence and ask her.
He hoped Joseph had received the antidote in Wamuu’s ring.
Caesar hated how Suzie’s usually cheerful smile was now taut with tension, how the doctors and nurses fussed over him like he was the broken pieces of some delicate china kept together by tape, how he felt so tired and in pain even with all the drugs in his body, and, more than anything, he hated how he couldn’t do anything to help his friend and his master in defeating the Pillar Men.
Suzie hadn’t been there when he had woken up this morning and still had not gotten back now that it was late in the afternoon – or so he thought, judging by the orangish sunlight slanting in through the window and the lull in the bustle outside.
Joseph had probably gone ahead and done something incredibly stupid and got in deep trouble again, and even though he trusted Joseph to be able to pull through with his ridiculous but clever maneuvers, Caesar really, really shouldn’t be lying in bed and staring at spiderwebs.
The steady drip of the IV sounded like a ticking clock, another reminder of wasted time.
In an attempt to push himself up, Caesar tried to drag his less bandaged arm backward. He managed to bend his arm slightly, which sent a dull ache up that arm that made him take in a sharp breath, which in turn reminded him of how much his cracked ribs hurt even with all the drugs, which then made him screw his eyes shut and remember the pounding headache that hadn’t stopped since the first time he had woken up in this hospital.
Joseph was fighting for the fate of this world and probably on his way to getting killed, and Caesar couldn’t even fight off a headache.
Even the sound of his own breathing made his head hurt more.
As much as he hated to admit it, Joseph had been right, and it had been stupid of him to walk right into Wamuu’s trap with his half-baked plan. He had prepared for this fight for years, made it his life’s purpose, only to lose it because he hadn’t had enough patience and couldn’t have kept his temper in check.
Anger flared up inside him at the nagging feeling that he had messed up and let everyone down. Overcome with the urge to punch something, he tried to ball his hands up only for the fingers on his better hand to trail weakly across the thin, soft sheet while the other ones barely even twitched.
Useless.
He had failed his father and grandfather, having been too weak to avenge them himself.
He had failed his training and Master Lisa Lisa, who had so graciously taken him under her wings and trained him and, just recently, saved his life with her healing ripple.
And Joseph.
Joseph, who was rude and annoying and loud and lazy.
Joseph, who was brave and clever and fun and kind.
Joseph, whom Caesar wanted to beat up more often than not and whom Caesar had come to respect and consider a friend.
Joseph, with his easy bright smile and wild brown hair and beautiful blue-green eyes.
Caesar, floating in his drug-induced haze, asked himself why it was so important to remember his best friend’s beautiful eyes.
He had no answer.
But it was a shame that Joseph had no idea how to take advantage of his good looks. Sure, he used puppy eyes on people to get what he wanted all the time, but his flirting abilities oscillated between clumsily executed cheesy lines and the horrendous pulling-the-pigtail-of-the-girl-you-like, and it was just sad.
Caesar figured, as the more experienced one, it was his responsibility to show Joseph some tricks to wooing women, because Joseph sure wasn’t going to figure anything out himself.
And Joseph deserved to be with the woman he liked, whoever that might be.
Probably Suzie.
Caesar had seen the way the two danced around each other, and he had to admit that they could make a lovely couple – he could even picture them as an old happily-married couple in sixty years. Not that Caesar, ever the playboy, would know anything about long-term committed relationships. But still. He would give anything to make sure his dearest friends are happy.
Caesar wasn’t sure why he was so invested in his friend’s love life all of a sudden. Maybe the concussion really messed up his brain. Or maybe narrowly escaping death made him sappy. Or maybe he just needed to convince himself that Joseph would survive this fight.
The room darkened and blurred as his eyelids drooped. He glanced at the bright square of the window, saw nothing but a pale sky through it, and looked back at the spiderweb.
The spider wasn’t there.
Caesar shivered.
Why was he so cold?
As an insurmountable wave of exhaustion washed over him and dragged him under, Caesar hoped that Joseph would be alright.
The first thing Caesar became aware of was a throbbing discomfort throughout his body; the second was that someone was touching his face.
Without opening his eyes, Caesar could tell they weren’t malicious. The touches were light and gentle if not a bit ticklish, a blessing compared to the pulsing soreness that permeated his back and limbs, and he could feel himself leaning into them.
A familiar voice let out a low chuckle at that, and Caesar cracked an eye open to find a pair of familiar blue-green eyes.
Framed in silver moonlight, Joseph Joestar slouched in the bedside chair, cupping Caesar’s face in one hand and running a thumb over his cheek. The gentle repetitive motion slowed as Joseph frowned and squinted at Caesar’s face, cocking his head to one side like a giant confused puppy.
Caesar’s heart sped up, pounding, as a tentative hope expanded inside him like a balloon.
Was Joseph really here?
Needing a sign that he wasn’t hallucinating a drug-induced apparition, Caesar forced his eyes fully open and looked.
Catching Caesar’s gaze, Joseph broke into a shit-eating grin. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
And the heavy weight dangling over Caesar’s heart burst into a million iridescent bubbles.
Because, even when pumped full of drugs, Caesar’s mind would never assault him with a line so cheesy and inappropriate – it was clearly not morning – and, more importantly, if Joseph was really here, that meant he had won.
The urge to smile and throw himself into Joseph’s arms, grab him in a stranglehold and never let go rolled and rumbled in Caesar’s chest.
Instead, he simply rasped, “Why are you touching my face?” and broke into a coughing fit.
Joseph snatched his hand away as if Caesar’s face had turned into a burning stovetop.
“Just checking if those are real birthmarks,” he said, after Caesar’s lungs had calmed down, and turned to grab a cup of water on the nightstand.
An inexplicable emptiness swelled inside Caesar at the absence of Joseph’s touch, which made him swallow his retort that of course his birthmarks were real.
As Caesar sipped the water, Joseph rambled on in as low a voice as Joseph Joestar could manage, “You know, some of your wounds were infected, and you had a fever and slept for like a week. The doctors were worried because it could’ve been a brain thing. Couldn’t wake you up no matter what I tried. But Suzie was saying she saw your eyes open once or twice.”
Caesar followed Joseph’s soft gaze to find Suzie curled up on the spare bed across the room, looking exhausted even in sleep – Caesar would have to find a way to give her a proper thanks when he would get out of the hospital.
Maybe he should buy her that nice pair of earrings that she’d had her eyes on for a while.
And maybe he could knock some sense into Joseph so he’d finally take her out on a real date.
They’d both want that, right?
He looked back at Joseph and said, “So you beat them.”
Joseph nodded and, smirking, launched into an undoubtedly exaggerated account of his awesome, legendary, super epic battles against Wamuu and Kars. Even though Joseph, gesticulating wildly and gradually losing control over his volume, seemed his old energetic self, there was still an almost imperceptible hesitance to his movements, like he had to chart out a path of least resistance before even the slightest motion. Most of the visible damage Joseph had suffered seemed to be superficial scrapes and bruises, except for a couple of carefully bandaged deeper cuts and--
“JoJo, what the fuck happened to your arm?” Caesar interrupted the story that he had stopped paying full attention to a while back.
Joseph paused midsentence. A scowl flashed across his face before a forced neutral expression slipped back like an ill-fitting mask – Joseph had never been good at hiding his emotions. He looked away and waved at his stump with a little too much nonchalance. “This thing? I was just getting to this. Have more patience, will you? Kars got lucky and cut it off, then I banished him to outer space with a volcanic eruption. And I mean an actual volcanic eruption. You know, when a volcano goes pffffff-pow.” In his best interpretation of fireworks, Joseph Joestar waved his right and only fist upwards while spreading his fingers slowly. “You know, I almost went to space, too, but I managed to get back down. Pretty cool, right?” His lips curled into yet another self-satisfied smirk.
But all Caesar could see were the small winces Joseph made when he got excited and tried to gesture with his left arm, and the nagging feeling came back. It was his fault that Joseph had almost died and was missing an arm now, wasn’t it? Caesar was supposed to be the experienced one, the one who could be relied on to watch Joseph’s back as they fought their formidable foes, but instead he had spent the whole battle sleeping in a hospital bed.
“No, it isn’t,” he said, because he didn’t know how to apologise without it sounding like an empty condolence, “It sounds horrible.”
Joseph’s smile faltered. “I just told you I defeated the Ultimate Being and that’s what you say?”
“You almost shot yourself into space.”
“Okay, maybe that part was a bit of an oversight, but the point is I came back and Kars did not.”
“How come one of your hands didn’t come back with you?” Caesar knew he was being mean, but Joseph’s cocky attitude didn’t sit right with him. He felt the responsibility to remind Joseph that his luck was not limitless before he could get it into his stupid head that he would always come out unscathed (slightly to moderately scathed?) from dangerous situations.
Joseph’s backlit face was shrouded in shadow, but Caesar, even with his still bleary eyes, saw it scrunch up in annoyance. The curves of Joseph’s shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath.
“So what?” Joseph shrugged and started bouncing his leg. “I saved the world.”
“You got lucky.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Joseph snapped.
“Do you?”
“I didn’t plan the volcano, and I know not even Master Lisa Lisa stood much of a chance in front of Kars after he used the red stone.” Joseph leaned back in his chair, his eyes squinting into thin slits. “If you think you could’ve done any better, you’re stupid.”
Caesar was certain he couldn’t have done better than Joseph in the same situation – he most likely would’ve just died, he figured, gone out in a blaze of glory or something – but irritation still bubbled under Caesar’s skin at the condescension in Joseph’s words. He breathed, noting the pain between his ribs and how foreign and uncomfortable the oxygen tube felt in his nose. “That’s not what I meant,” he said calmly.
“Oh? Pray tell, what did you mean then?”
Caesar had meant that maybe if he had been there with Joseph, then maybe Joseph wouldn’t have needed to survive through sheer luck. He had meant that Joseph shouldn’t have had to face it all alone. He had wanted to apologise for not carrying out his responsibility as the older, more experienced fighter. He had wanted to apologise for not doing his part in a fight that had been his too.
But that felt too close and heavy and too difficult to say. Even though he had all the words planned out, he didn’t know how to utter them, so he, as always, settled on something more distant and much easier to say: “I just meant maybe it could’ve gone better.”
Taking a sharp breath, Joseph ran a frantic hand through his already frantic hair, making even more of it stand up. “So I’m not good enough, even though I literally saved the fucking world?”
What?
Caesar should’ve known Joseph would come up with some wildly incorrect interpretation for his words. He scrambled around in his mind, scouring for the right words to explain himself and coming up with only incoherent, maybe-not-even-English phrases. After a few moments of opening and closing his mouth like a fish drowning on land, he settled on shaking his head, which was a mistake because the movement pulled the tube going down his nose in the wrong way. Turning to face the ceiling, he snapped his mouth shut and tried to swallow the wave of nausea.
Now he probably looked the opposite of what he was trying to convey.
“I was doing my best, okay?” continued Joseph, getting louder with each word, “It’s not like I wanted Kars to lop my hand off. And I don’t need you to criticise me for every little thing I got wrong in a fight I already won! You have no idea—”
“Stop talking,” Caesar blurted out – Joseph’s piercing loud voice was making his ears ring, and he needed it to stop.
Joseph’s mouth clenched shut with an angry clack of teeth.
Why couldn’t he just understand what Caesar was trying to say?
Joseph scoffed. “God, you’re an arsehole.”
“What?” Caesar spat out, and realised he might’ve voiced his frustration out loud.
“How’s it my fault that you can’t communicate like a normal person?”
Unbelievable. Joseph Joestar, the man who frequently zoned out mid-conversation and who always tried to finish other people’s sentences, was calling Caesar’s communication skills bad. At least Caesar was able to hold a conversation without calling out ‘I’m bored’ and walking away whenever the topic veered away from comic books.
Joseph huffed. “I don’t just talk about comic books!”
Damn it! Why did Caesar keep saying the wrong things out loud?
Joseph continued, “At least I don’t talk in riddles and make you guess what I’m saying and tell you all your guesses are wrong.”
“You keep taking my words the wrong way!” Caesar raised his voice despite his sore throat.
“Everything I do is wrong for you!” Joseph said, already at his normal volume – it was a miracle that Suzie was still asleep. He waved his only hand in Caesar’s face and counted, “I was using the ripple wrong, I was eating wrong, I was drinking wrong, I was talking wrong, I was breathing wrong—”
“I was just trying to fix your bad manners!”
“I don’t need your fixing; I like myself the way I am! I saved the world, and still, I did it wrong! I almost died!” Joseph paused for breath, face flushed from screaming. “I got shot off to space on a piece of damn rock and fell back to Earth on it. I floated around, half-dead, in the ocean for three whole days before Suzie fished me up. And all you’ve got to say is ‘nah, you got lucky’! Like you preferred me dead or something!”
Joseph’s words barely registered in Caesar’s mind as his ears were ringing so hard it was getting hard for him to breathe. If he could cover his ears, he would, but his hands still refused to move, so he asked, in maybe a harsher tone than necessary, “Will you stop screaming?”
“Why the hell do you hate me so much?” Joseph’s voice boomed against the silence of the night.
“Shut up, idiota!” Caesar shouted back, feeling for a second that his head was going to explode.
“No. I. Won’t.” Joseph punctuated his words by stomping the floor with enough force to rattle the IV bottle on the pole by Caesar’s bed.
Suzie stirred. Caesar and Joseph snapped their heads toward her at the same time. They held their breath and watched. The IV liquid dripped, dripped, dripped above Caesar’s head, echoing across the sharp shadows and the dim moonlight. Suzie turned on her side and settled again.
Caesar stifled a cough. The longer he was awake, the more he became aware of how much discomfort his body was in. All he wanted was some peaceful rest, and Joseph, being inconsiderate as always, had to keep complaining in this loud whiny voice that stabbed at his eardrums.
Of course, if he explained himself and apologised, then Joseph would leave him alone.
But he didn’t want to.
Part of it was due to his own stubborn pride, but he also felt too ill to be trying to articulate his feelings – in English, no less. And he was sick of always having to accommodate Joseph. He had been tolerating Joseph’s rudeness since they had met, and even now Joseph wouldn’t cut him a break.
The incessant bragging felt like some kind of mockery, too, a taunting reminder that Caesar, even with all his talent and training, had not been good enough while Joseph, a prodigy with horrible work ethic and only a month of training, had effortlessly achieved what Caesar couldn’t.
Joseph blew out an angry breath through his nose.
“What’s your fucking problem?” Caesar snapped.
“You,” Joseph ground out, clenching his fist. “Can’t you just take one moment to appreciate the fact that I saved the world from immortal vampire gods and stop talking about whatever I did wrong?”
“Mamma mia. What do you want me to say? Congrats for losing an arm?”
“I saved the bloody world! I’m a bloody hero! You’re supposed to be happy to see me and say thank you and that you’re proud of me! But all you say is mean things! I don’t know why I even thought we were friends.”
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“At least I managed to finish what my grandfather started. I know he would’ve been proud of me. What do you think your grandfather would think of you, you good-for-nothing arsehole?”
The sound of Caesar’s quickening pulse pounded in his ears. His too-quick, shallow breaths were making his chest sting and his vision swim.
Joseph Joestar, who hadn’t known anything about his own grandfather’s death until recently and had just several days ago claimed that none of this family history had mattered, was playing the family card.
What right did Joseph, a disrespectful little shit, have to bring up Caesar’s grandfather?
If only Caesar could somehow detach all the tubes and needles sticking into his body and make a proper swing at this infuriating idiot…
Joseph scoffed and looked away.
Caesar’s fingers twitched with anticipation.
If everything only hurt half as much as it did now, Caesar would’ve pounced on Joseph and pummeled him, but as it was, Caesar just lay there and imagined the satisfying crack to be made by Joseph’s handsome – wait, no – stupid nose breaking.
Caesar admitted to himself that it’d be a shame to break Joseph’s pretty face because he kind of liked to look at it. For aesthetic reasons, of course. Who doesn’t like looking at pretty faces?
Joseph stared at the half-lit ground, his thick, pretty eyebrows furrowing into a knot.
Hold on, what were they even talking about?
Something about their grandfathers?
What would Caesar’s grandfather, who had honourably sacrificed his own life for Joseph’s grandfather, have thought about Caesar?
From what Caesar had heard about the man, he appeared to have been an upright if not a bit eccentric gentleman, one who might even have been understanding of Caesar’s temper. But he still had a suspicion that the answer would be dangerously close to ‘good-for-nothing arsehole’.
Caesar couldn’t manage to die an honourable death for his friend, couldn’t help his friend save the world, couldn’t avenge his own family, and couldn’t be honest to his friend or even just talk to him without wanting to throw hands. Sure, said friend was being a little shit, but he had still fought for Caesar and risked his life for the entire world. On top of being the only true friend Caesar had ever had.
A sinking, freezing feeling that there was something very wrong with him settled in the pit of his stomach, right in the middle of his burning anger.
Caesar A. Zeppeli could see William A. Zeppeli shaking his head in heaven, disappointed at his grandson. In fact, Caesar thought he could see the entire Zeppeli lineage, all the way back to Adam and Eve, looking down on him and shaking their heads in disappointment.
Anger, frustration, and the sinking feeling swirled together and spread like an icy wildfire through his body, making even breathing an arduous task.
Caesar glanced at Joseph, who was bouncing his leg harder and faster than usual and scowling at the white floor tiles like they had personally wronged him, and for some reason thought he was sad.
So sad that even the spikes of his hair drooped a little.
Caesar studied Joseph, taking in all his scars and the missing arm, and regretted everything he’d said. He shouldn’t have let his fragile pride and quick temper guide his words. He shouldn’t have said cold, mean, hurtful things to his friend. Maybe it would’ve been awkward and maybe he would’ve got laughed at and maybe his apology wouldn’t have been accepted, but he should’ve just said exactly what he had meant.
Before his brain could catch up and mess up everything again, Caesar opened his mouth, “JoJo.”
“What?” Joseph’s head snapped up, eyes focusing on Caesar.
Caesar met those pretty eyes and stopped worrying. “I meant to say.” He coughed. “I should’ve been there for you.” He took a breath – it sounded wrong. “I should’ve listened to you and not gone to the hotel.”
“It’s not your fault,” Joseph mumbled.
Caesar shook his head and forced out through painful coughs and wheezing breaths, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry for being mean. I’m sorry you almost died saving the world while I got myself stuck here like a nuisance. I’m sorry you lost your hand. I’ve let you down. I’ve let everyone down. My grandfather would’ve been so disappointed—”
“Caesar, it’s not your fault.”
Caesar tried to explain that of course it was his fault because he was older and was therefore supposed to look after Joseph, but his chest felt so tight he couldn’t get his words out, and Joseph was grabbing his hand and shushing him. The painful itch in his lungs grew with each breath until it became unbearable. Violent spasms ran through his body as it tried to cough out the irritant.
When he had recovered, Joseph was quietly rubbing circles on his hand and refusing to return his gaze.
The silence stretched on.
A metallic taste lingered in Caesar’s mouth, and he could feel very clearly the throbbing ache in his chest and the soreness all over his body. There was a pervading chill in the air, too, but he didn’t find it in him to do anything about it. He zeroed in on Joseph’s cool touch and let himself relax.
Just as his eyelids began to droop, Joseph’s quiet voice reached him, “I don’t know why you have to be so hard on yourself.”
Caesar, assuming Joseph was being condescending again, glanced over only to find Joseph staring at him, eyes shining with earnestness and determination. He studied Joseph’s face, looking for any sign of pranks and finding none, then screwed his eyes shut because he had no energy to play along with whatever game Joseph was up to.
Joseph continued, “It’s not your fault. You’ve been a great help, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
That made no sense even knowing what Joseph had done with Caesar’s favourite headband, and, given Joseph’s inability to take anything seriously, this must have been the buildup to another dumb joke that only Joseph would find funny. Caesar was too worn out to tell Joseph he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He settled on giving Joseph’s hand a light squeeze and hoped Joseph would get the hint and shut up.
Joseph did not get the hint – or rather, he got the hint and ignored it – and plowed on, “But it’s all over now. We won. And I’m happy we both made it.”
There was no way whatever joke this was building up to could be funny to Caesar, so he started taking deep, even breaths as though he had fallen asleep.
“I know you’re awake.” Joseph let go of his hand in favour of jabbing a finger at his face. “You need to hear this.”
No matter which way Caesar turned his face, the stupidly insistent finger followed.
He sighed and opened his eyes again. “If I listen to your stupid joke, will you let me sleep?”
Joseph let out a scandalised gasp. “Stupid joke? I’m pouring my heart out over here, and you think I’m just telling a stupid joke? Plus, you just woke up, why do you need to sleep again?”
Why was he so loud? His voice reverberated in Caesar’s skull, knocking it into pieces.
“Please just leave.”
“No. You listen to me.” Joseph took his face again, gently guiding his head so that they were facing each other. After frowning at Caesar’s face for a second too long, Joseph enunciated, “I’m very happy that you’re still here.”
Was that supposed to be the punchline? Maybe it was a language barrier thing? What was the significance of the staring and face touching? Usually, Caesar got Joseph’s silly jokes even when he hoped he didn’t, but this one truly went over his very much hurting head.
He scowled. “I don’t get the joke.”
“There’s no joke, you dumbass!” Joseph’s voice rose an octave.
“What do you mean then?” Caesar asked dumbly. Everything hurt, and he was tired and sleepy and really, really confused. And the way Joseph’s hand felt so soft and cool on his face was very, very distracting.
“Oh my god, and you say I’m the one who never pays attention?” Although his tone was joking, Joseph was wearing the same earnest expression from before, and even in the dark Caesar could see a faint blush to his cheeks. “You’re, like, my best friend, and sure, sometimes you’re an arsehole, and sometimes you’re a dumbass, but I don’t care. And I don’t care if you didn’t beat some ancient Aztec vampire god or if you couldn’t be there when I shot a guy into space with a volcano. And I don’t need you to try harder. Caesar, it’s enough for me that you’re still here, existing. Do you understand?”
Caesar knew that he was failing spectacularly at processing this verbal vomit – some sort of backhanded compliment (or insult?) that led back to the vampire gods and volcanos that Joseph couldn’t stop talking about – and that Joseph for sure did not understand how groggy he was from having an emotionally-charged argument right after a week-long nap.
He nodded anyways, which was a terrible idea because it exacerbated his headache and made him dizzy and nauseous.
He winced.
A thumb stroked his cheek gently, and Joseph was looking at him with a fond but almost sad expression.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Joseph whispered in a scarily un-Joseph-like way, voice small and dripping with melancholy.
Oh.
Something finally clicked in Caesar’s head, and suddenly all of Joseph’s lingering touches and heartfelt words made sense – Joseph had been afraid and probably worried sick about him. His brain short-circuited under a wave of an undefined, overwhelming, but very warm feeling, and it only took him a minute or two too long to mumble a clumsy response, “You’re my best friend too, JoJo.” (It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but he decided it was good enough for now.)
Joseph’s posture sagged at that.
Caesar gave himself a mental pat on the back for not messing it up again.
Joseph stroked Caesar’s cheek again. “I’m sorry about what I said just now. And for that time before the hotel. About your family. It wasn’t fair, and I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t mean it.”
“Sorry I punched you.”
“Yeah, that hurt a lot. You’ll have to make up for it sometime, Caesarino.” Joseph winked and waggled his eyebrows.
Caesar rolled his eyes but didn’t try to fight back his smile. It took everything in him just to bring his own hand up, but he still managed to give Joseph’s hand a pat. “Good job saving the world, JoJo. I’m proud of you.”
Joseph’s face lit up before he jumped up and let out a whoop loud enough to restart Caesar’s headache.
“JoJo?” Suzie’s voice cut across the room. “Leave him alone and go back to bed!”
Joseph spun to face her, beaming. “Suzie, guess what Caesar just said!”
“JoJo, he’s not going to wake up no matter what you draw on his face…Wait, what?”
Wait, what?
Horrific images of his face ruined by Joseph’s childish doodles flashed through Caesar’s mind. And people must have seen his face with those doodles! His mouth felt dry, and his heart raced. “What did you do to my face?”
Suzie jumped out of bed and turned the light on.
“Ow! Suzie! My eyes!” Joseph yelled, scrambling to hide his face in the crook of his arm.
Instead of covering his burning eyes like any sane person would, Caesar wiped forcefully at his face with the help of adrenaline.
Suzie practically threw herself toward Caesar. “Oh my god! Cae, you’re awake!”
“Yeah, all thanks to me! And guess what he said!”
“Are you okay? How do you feel?” In a flurry of movements, Suzie grabbed and put down Caesar’s hand, felt his cheek for temperature, pulled his blanket up, and smoothed over some of the dressing on his wounds.
“Suzie, cosa ha disegnato?” Caesar’s voice cracked, and he suddenly felt winded again.
He didn’t really have to ask Suzie, because he knew what Joseph had drawn on his face.
He knew.
His hand moved up on its own accord only to be guided back down by Suzie again.
Bouncing on his heels, Joseph butted his head in front of Suzie, demanding her attention. “He said I did a good job and he was proud of me, Suzie! Unironically!”
“Oh, poor thing. He’s burning up again, and he looks kind of pale. Did someone check on him? JoJo, you should’ve gotten someone to check on him.” Suzie flitted out the room, looked around, and disappeared down the corridor.
“I saved the world, and Caesar’s proud of me!” Joseph said in a loud, sing-song voice that grated at Caesar’s nerves.
“Joseph Joestar,” Caesar said through gritted teeth.
“What?”
“What the fuck did you do to my face?”
Looking embarrassed, Joseph grabbed Caesar’s hand and patted it placatingly. “Nothing, I swear! I mean, Suzie made me wipe it all off.”
Before Caesar could yell at him and ask for a mirror, a stern-faced nurse strode in with Suzie in tow. She asked Caesar a series of questions and checked his vitals. Apparently satisfied with the results, she gave Caesar some pills and told him to rest. Then she leveled a look at Joseph, who had not let go of Caesar’s hand the whole time, and asked that Mr. Joestar returned to and remained in his own bed for the night.
“What if I want to stay with him?” Joseph pouted, which Caesar, probably because he had drugs running in his system, found endearing.
Caesar squeezed Joseph’s hand to get his attention. “I’m not going anywhere. Go to bed.”
“Okay.” Joseph stood up. “See you in the morning?”
“See you in the morning.” Caesar let go of Joseph’s hand.
Joseph just stood there hovering for a while, looking at Caesar like he couldn’t decide his next move. Eventually, he reached over and tousled Caesar’s hair before turning and limping the few metres to his own unmade bed. The nurse, satisfied, bid them all goodnight and left. Suzie tucked Joseph in against his protests, reassured Caesar that the only marking on his face was his weird birthmarks, and, yawning, flicked the light off and crawled back into the spare bed again.
Caesar drifted asleep to the sound of Joseph flipping through his comic books (in the dark), knowing they were going to be alright.