- a collection of ~1k drabbles for various Shipping weeksÂ
this oneâs for @caejose-weekâ !
Prompt: Free Day (though it could have arguably fit into the Past/Future or AU prompts ;v; )
There was a saying Caesarâs father used all the time,Â
before he left: if youâre bad at cards, youâll be lucky in love.Â
But Caesarâs had plenty of luck with women, and never lost a hand of poker in his life; and if thereâs one thing he hates more than proverbial bullshit, itâs the possibility of the divine butting into his affairs.
For all his good Catholic upbringing, he just doesnât believe in that kind of stuff. Heâs a pragmatist. God doesnât feed five younger siblings. Fate doesnât pay the rent. Destiny didnât make his father leave. The only thing Caesar trusts is himself - the things he can see, the things heâs capable of with his own hands, his brain, his skills. If he ever needed help with romance - which, he doesnât - it certainly wouldnât come in the form of soulmates dropping from the sky.
Joseph, meanwhile, is terrible at cards. He cheats, cheats so often it forces you to cheat back; tries to make it look like âintuitionâ or ânatural skillâ and then loses by forfeit. He makes petty observations about someoneâs personality - something anyone with half an ounce of logic could do - and divines their next moves like a magic trick. He could make anything seem real, just by refusing to believe that the opposite was possible. He canât be wrong if he never admits it. Dogmatism at its finest.
Joseph - Joseph is an idiot. Heâs bumbling and obnoxious and his jokes are terrible; and heâs loud and reckless and has a beautiful knack for making even the worst situation much, much worse, and Christ, if he ever learns how to shut his mouth before Caesarâs hands are headed for his throat it will be too goddamn soon -
Joseph is also graceful. Heâs sincere. Heâs disciplined, so much more than he used to be. He has a mind that can move fifty ways at once, calculating plans in the blink of an eye. An admirable fighter. A strategic genius. A loyal friend. A grin that could shake mountains.
It makes Caesar want to slam Josephâs head into a wall.
Slam his own head into a wall.
Joseph Joestar canât coexist with himself. It just doesnât make sense. He doesnât make sense.
Joseph Joestar exists on a teetering ledge between extremes, without ever losing his balance.
If Caesar has his feet planted firmly on the ground, Joseph Joestar is the one careening toward him at terminal velocity.
Just thinking about him exhausts Caesar.
Just thinking about him makes Caesar want to kiss him.
Just thinking about him isnât enough.
Heâs not sure what it is that stops him there, ankle deep in the snow midway between Joseph Joestar and that lonely-looking hotel.
Maybe itâs the way the icy wind blowing off the Alps collides with his face and makes him slow his march.
Maybe itâs recalling the look Lisa Lisa gave him when she was holding him back, the tone of her voice when she ordered him to stay - like she wanted to think he really could stand up to Kars all on his own, but knew in spite of everything that he couldnât.
Maybe itâs because he knows pride kills - killed his grandfather when he made a sacrifice he shouldnât have had to; killed his father when he decided to take on a burden he could have shared.
Maybe itâs because he canât bear to give Joseph the satisfaction of being right - but dying for him, dying for fucking JoJo, would be even lower than that.
Caesar doesnât believe in luck, or fate, or divine intervention. He only believes in whatâs real.
Itâs his own mind, and his own legs, that turn him back around.
Joseph drops out of the sky.
He careens at terminal velocity, in the most literal way, back to Caesar.
He almost dies. They both do. Thatâs nothing new.
Is a man lucky for being able to have so many near-death experiences? Or unlucky?
Caesar doesnât believe in luck, but maybe Joseph might.
Theyâre in twin infirmary beds, trying to breathe themselves back to health, when he finally says something about it.
He doesnât ask outright, not at first - instead he turns it into an accusation. Argument is a form of conversation, the way Caesar grew up.
âYou have got to be the luckiest bastard Iâve ever met,â is what he says; and Joseph laugh-winces in the way that tells him his ribs arenât sharing his sense of humor.
âIâm more sure about âbastardâ than âlucky.ââ
âYou would be,â Joseph says with a pout, and bats heavy eyelashes at him. Caesar would jab him with his toe, but his femurâs broken in two places, and whatever they have pumping through his veins could tranquilize a horse, even with Hamon..
âI didnât lie, per se, I -â
âAnd got launched into space.â
âAs far as Iâm aware.â
âI canât think of anything that could have gotten you that far besides sheer dumb luck.â
âWhat, not my beautiful mind?â
âDonât flatter yourself, asshole,â Caesar snaps. But there it is again. The contradiction thatâs been plaguing him since the day he and Joseph first met. The one that has kept him awake at night one time too many.
Either Joseph Joestar is a savant - and Caesar cannot, cannot accept that - or heâs an idiot.
If heâs an idiot, Caesar has to acknowledge that there may really be forces at work outside of his control - and worse, that those outside forces love Joseph as much as they hate Caesar.
â- matter?â Joseph asks, and Caesar realizes heâs been talking the whole time.
âDoes it matter if itâs smarts or luck?â he slurs, and yawns wide like a cat. âYou made it. I made it. We saved the world alright. Doesnât really matter how, does it?â
And heâs right, damn him. Heâs right about all of it. It doesnât matter how Joseph does things, doesnât matter how things transpired in Caesarâs life, or how things are going to happen from here on. They just will.
And he and JoJo will continue rolling with the punches, in whatever ways they can.
The IV drip is kicking in stronger, sleep dragging his worn muscles down; and across from him Joseph has his head tucked against one shoulder as the same exhaustion finally overtakes him.
âDonât forget to tell Suzie to tell everyone weâre alive.â
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