Despair Vampire

Diego Brando was not a brave man. Not when it mattered at least. He wasn’t good and he wasn’t kind and he wasn’t brave. It was one thing to risk your life on the back of a horse and it was another entirely to tear down all your defenses around someone, even someone you love.

So maybe he wasn’t everything a boyfriend should be, but he was trying. He was trying so fucking hard and he still wasn’t brave. Pathetic.

It had been a month since his confession to Johnny. That made it sound like a religious experience and maybe it was. His mother had told him to be honest with God and Johnny was about the closest thing to divine he could think of. An angel at least; he’d look good with wings on his back and a halo nestled in his blond hair and no more tears. If only.

It had been a month and he still hadn’t gotten an answer. Johnny wasn’t good at being open with his feelings, Diego could understand that, but this seemed like something that warranted an answer. Some acknowledge at least, but instead Johnny had cried and said nothing, just cried himself to sleep in Diego’s arms. If Diego were brave, he would have asked Johnny about it the next morning. But he wasn’t and he didn’t and that question had gone unanswered for a month.

They talked about other things. And they kissed and shared a bed and behaved exactly like something they weren’t. Exactly like they were in love.

“Do you really think this’ll work?” Johnny sounded nervous, which was a little strange for him. Normally he fell right past nervous and straight to despair.

Diego shrugged. “Can’t hurt, right?”

They were at home, which was what the mansion was becoming these days, waiting for a guest to arrive in the sitting room like a couple of good little lords. Most people figured out their relationship pretty quick, but it was good to keep up appearances anyway. Made things safer.

Johnny bit his lip and Diego watched for blood, but there wasn’t any. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then nothing changes,” Diego answered, and put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “What are you so worried about? I won’t kick you out.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Johnny’s face went pale. “Promise?”

Of course that was what he was scared of. People had abandoned him in the past. It wasn’t anything personal, just a general fear he was projecting onto the situation. But still, Diego couldn’t help but feel bad. “I promise.”

Maybe it was just that Johnny was a difficult person to be brave with. He didn’t make it easy to open up. No, he was all chains and locks and the keys had been lost a long time ago. Too much like Diego himself, a fortress built out of necessity but with the gates welded shut. A prison.

Diego leaned over the back of Johnny’s chair and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “No matter what, I won’t kick you out. If this doesn’t work we can keep trying. Medicine is getting better every day. Someone will be able to fix your legs.”

“Yeah.” Johnny didn’t sound enthusiastic, but he never did.

“It’ll be fine, love.”

Johnny fell silent and in that moment, Diego realized what he had said. He’d been raised in the north of England and love was used for everyone, even strangers. But not by him. He’d dropped his natural accent as soon as he could, burying it deep along with the rest of his childhood. No, it meant something different from him. Something Johnny still refused to answer.

The interminable silence ended with the sound of footsteps and their guest was ushered into the sitting room by the butler and… Well, he wasn’t exactly what Diego had expected.

The man was tall and unkempt, with the bearing of a traveler. Throughly unsuitable for a professional in Diego’s opinion. People ought to dress their part at least. Otherwise, it looked like they didn’t care about the basics. But everybody didn’t share that idea and this man was dressed like a mess and not at all like a doctor should be.

Nevertheless, Diego held out a hand and the man shook it. “Welcome to England, Dr. Zeppeli.”

“Thank you.” His words were thick with an Italian accent and there was something odd about his teeth that Diego only caught a glimpse of. “Please, call me Gyro. Lord Brando, I presume?”

“Yes.” Diego wasn’t about to grant someone like this the privilege of using his first name. “And this is my friend, Mr. Joestar.”

Johnny looked at Gyro. Didn’t smile because he didn’t smile at anyone but Diego, but looked at him pleasantly enough. “Nice to meet you.”

The introductions were rehearsed. Diego liked to plan this sort of stuff out and he’d spent a while trying to figure out the best way to talk about Johnny. Friend was about as far as he could go and that was expected, but it felt wrong assigning him a lower rank. He was a lord and his lover deserved better. Lord Joestar sounded more like it. Lord Johnny Joestar and in a perfect world, Lord Johnny Brando. But the world wasn’t perfect and Johnny wasn’t his wife and he would never be.

It was all a long shot, a strange doctor who offered some technique that Diego had never heard of, but right now they were looking for something like that. The best doctors in England couldn’t cure paralysis. And maybe whatever sadness Johnny still held would be cured along with his injury.

Diego wasn’t the sort who believed in miracles, but recently they had made a pretty convincing case. It was a miracle that Johnny was here in England with him, that he was willing to touch Diego and be touched back, that he was even still alive. So maybe this miracle cure would work.

And as he watched Gyro be led away to put his luggage in one of the many guest bedrooms, Diego took Johnny’s hand. It was good just to remember he was there. No matter how this turned out, things could have been so much worse.

—

“I’m sorry.”

He’d never slept very well, growing up hungry and scared tended to do that to you, but lately Diego had barely slept at all. It wasn’t healthy, he knew that as an athlete. Or maybe a former one, he wasn’t really sure what he was doing with his life anymore. Probably why he couldn’t sleep.

It was scary, not having a plan. Ever since he was a little kid, Diego had made plans. He had known exactly what he wanted and how far he was willing to go to get it. There was no room for indecision when the next meal might not come for a few days and no extra effort to spare once he had chosen one option or another. No matter what mistakes he made, he was locked into his path. No time for guilt, not when he couldn’t change anything. He simply had to live with the consequences of his actions.

And that would have been fine, if he were the only person in the world, or even the only person he cared about. But he wasn’t, not anymore, and Johnny shouldn’t have to pay for his mistakes.

“I’m sorry,” Diego whispered, like that would somehow absolve him, like Johnny could even hear him. He couldn’t right now, because unlike Diego he was actually capable of sleeping and it was probably around midnight and he wasn’t up feeling sorry for himself like a pathetic child. No, Johnny was fast asleep in his arms, so quiet and safe and his. Like he should have been years ago.

Diego had seen everything. He’d watched Johnny spiral out of control and he’d done nothing to stop it. If Diego had protected him, he wouldn’t have been shot. There wouldn’t be so many scars all over his arms. He wouldn’t have tried to take his own life. But instead Diego had bet that Johnny would be fine for a little while longer and that had gone so terribly wrong.

He never should have left that morning, the day after Johnny was disowned. Their life together should have begun then. But he had and now Johnny had to live with his mistake.