Chapter Text
☆☆☆☆☆
“Where’d you get this one Papa?”
He glances up from his handiwork to see Jolyne holding one of the shells he had set aside, too small to be used in his project. Deep brown, with thin baby-pink threads tracing the curve of the familiar snail-shell shape; the inside was pale pink, reminiscent of cherry blossoms.
“It looks like ice cream! Or one of those sweets you brought back from Japan!”
His eyebrows furrow for a moment, until he recalls the small cubes, filled with soft strawberry-chocolate and coated in cocoa dust.
Jolyne had consumed at least seven in a row, leaving the wrappers scattered on the floor like Hansel and Gretel's silver stones. Her mother was baffled as to the origin of the sudden energy burst, having been out of the room for the exchange. Jotaro simply observed as the girl bounced off the walls, stole his hat, and barricaded herself behind some chairs and an army of plush toys, waving a cardboard tube around like a sword.
He plucks the shell out of her small hands, turns it over, traces the pink right to the centre of the swirl.
“Northern Ireland. It was a place called Portstewart.”
He finds himself stumbling imperceptibly over the sharp consonants.
She hops over to him and clambers up to sit on his knee, reaching for the shell as she does so. He relinquishes it back to her hold, and stretches forward to continue working.
Her hair was tied into small buns on top of her head, which flatten as she leans back into her father’s chest, gaze concentrated on the little splash of colour clutched between her fingers.
“Why did you go there?”
The shells rattle as he moves some aside, looking for one in particular.
“Work.”
Jolyne pouts and thunks her head against his diaphragm.
“Yeah but why, Papa. Why did work make you go away?”
He takes a second to recover his breath (the girl had good aim) before responding.
“They needed me to investigate some unusual fish behaviour.”
“Oh.”
She purses her lips, tossing the shell up and down.
“Are snails fish?”
Jotaro finds himself pausing, hand frozen mid-stretch towards the gloves perched on the other side of the table. The right answer would take too long, so he settled for a compromise.
“......sure.”
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
He barrelled down the winding country road, silently thanking the powers that be that British cars (specifically Northern Irish cars) were the same as Japanese ones. It was fairly quiet: he only passed one or two vehicles going the opposite direction. A rickety tractor pulled out in front of him at one stage - a trailer bouncing behind it - and he had to bide his time before he could overtake it safely.
The skies were grey, overcast, trees rustling in a wind that was starting to pick up speed.
It would only take him another twenty minutes to reach the city, if the file he’d been given was accurate. The Speedwagon Foundation had been alerted to some possible Stand user activity, with links to an organisation rising rapidly to power in Europe, one that was making its fortune off of illicit drug sales. When the Foundation learnt that the police forces in both Britain and Ireland were planning a major series of raids in June, they had called Jotaro straight away. The Speedwagon Foundation had no people equipped to handle potentially hostile Stand users in either country; if they alerted the police of the danger they could jeopardise the whole operation, regardless of the response to it. Supernatural forces were, generally speaking, kept under wraps for a reason. And in all honesty, the Foundation had no desire to reveal its... other branches of research to the wider public.
The road began to straighten, the greenery lessening somewhat as he approached the suburbs of Londonderry (or just ‘Derry’ depending on who you were). He left the farmland behind; here lampposts replaced the tallest trees, with flags for foliage.
Housing estates replaced the fields, redbrick buildings clustered together with narrow alleyways running between them, interspersed with large greens. Some had painted kerbstones at their entrance, most of which had used red, white, and blue paint. A small number of children were out playing in the streets. For a brief moment he thought of Jolyne, but soon shook his head, clearing it so he could focus on the task at hand.
Ten minutes to go.
His eyes flicked to the file beside him again. It contained rather unhelpful photos of shadowed faces and dark figures - the only sightings of a potential Stand user in the city he was headed to. SPW’s best guess was a man, in his thirties, with fair hair. Hospital reports from the area made a blip on the Foundation's radar large enough to warrant sending Jotaro across the sea to investigate. A number of people had come in with peculiar injuries: some were blinded, some had injuries running the length of their arms or legs. The only consistency was the unusual shape of the cuts: they resembled those one might get if they were attacked by a porcupine’s quills. Given the distinct lack of porcupines in the entire island of Ireland, SPW suspected something sinister might be afoot. That, and no needles (or quills, for that matter) were ever found embedded in the patients’ skin to explain their injuries.
A quick glance at his watch: five minutes.
The Foundation had a theory that this particular drugs gang was part of a larger one that Polnareff was investigating in mainland Europe. Although fewer people with links were disappearing in Northern Ireland than on the continent, these attacks with the assumed-needles had only begun within the last year. It seemed more than likely - to them, at least - that certain underground players were involved in the broader picture. With the Frenchman presently occupied, the responsibility to investigate - and deal with - any potential hostile Stand users involved in gang crime fell to Jotaro.
Again.
He pulled into a car park close to the city centre, checking to make sure there was no charge for parking after spotting a conspicuously large concentration of police officers in the surrounding area. By the time he reached the hospital he was instructed to go to, he had received quite a number of obvious stares. It wasn’t often a tall, dark-skinned Japanese native walked the streets of a Northern Irish city. He paid no mind; they left him alone and he returned the favour.
The woman in the reception area jolted as he dropped the file (with the relevant page out in front) on top of the counter.
“I’m looking for this man.” he said, tapping the bottom of the page where “Stephen Wilson” was printed in bold.
“O-Oh well he’s-- I’m sorry, are you a friend?” she stammered, shrinking under Jotaro’s gaze.
“He’s expecting me.”
“I...see. Well he’s up on the first floor, third ward on the left if you take the stairs, and visiting hours- sir!” She stood up and leaned over the right side of the counter as Jotaro swiftly snatched up the file, making his way to the stairs.
“Visiting hours are over at 8pm and not a minute later!” she called after him, huffing indignantly as he continued up the stairs without any sign of acknowledging her.
Her colleague snorted as she sat down and began angrily sorting papers, muttering about “rude men” under her breath.
“So, you’re saying you didn’t see anything, but you felt like you were being hit by several needles at once?”
The older man nodded. “Aye that’s exactly what I’m saying. Whatever it was went straight through my uniform and into my legs. Terrible quick too.”
He gestured to the bandages that covered the entirety of his feet and continued past the end of his trouser legs. Jotaro assumed the injuries ran up into his thighs from the medical report he’d looked over on the flight between London and Belfast.
“Felt like I got a dozen jabs in each leg, all at the same time. And then a second set right after that! The toes were the worst though. Sting was so sharp I found myself half-blind and in a world of pain.”
Mr Wilson winced at the memory, as if he could recall the sensation all too vividly.
“Wasn’t a booby-trap in the car neither, they’re inspected with a fine-tooth comb six ways from Sunday.”
Jotaro grunted in acknowledgement, momentarily looking down at sheets spread across the open file on his lap. They were finally making progress after what had been a shaky start. Mr Wilson couldn’t understand Jotaro’s accent at first, nor why he was visiting him, but after some slowly-spoken explanations it all became clear, and the older man was much more open to talking with him.
He turned a page over.
“And it was just a regular patrol?”
“Aye it was. Lots of scuffles break out and we just try to calm ‘em down as best we can. Police presence deters, and all that. It’s better than it used to be, at least for us folk, though that’s not saying much...” He trailed off and leaned over, eyes bright with curiosity as he watched Jotaro pull out a map of the Londonderry city area.
“Where were you attacked?”
Mr Wilson took the map into his hands, nose scrunched in concentration as he scanned the routes. “Let’s see, let’s see... myself and Constable Moore were heading down this street in the car after crossing the bridge--” He tilted the map and pointed, tracing the Foyle road heading west. “--and Constable Moore thought he spotted something odd on the other street, here. I followed his lead - though I’m not as sharp-sighted as I used to be, so I didn’t know what he’d spotted - but right before I turned fully into that other street I was hit, somehow. My guess is whoever got me was somewhere around here--” he traced a circle around a green patch before continuing. “--but I didn’t get a look before I almost crashed the bloomin’ car. Only thing that saved us was Constable Moore’s quick-thinking. He grabbed the wheel and stopped us going straight into a wall. I was able to brake and stop the car but I’ll tell ya, the pain was so bad I couldn’t speak. There was no one about and it took all I had just to get myself into the passenger seat, nevermind chase after some fella into the dark. So we had to just let the thing go. Constable Moore drove me to the hospital and I’ve been stuck in here for a day already and I don’t think they’re going to let me out until it’s been at least three!”
He took a moment to grumble quietly about nurses acting like his granny, oblivious to his companion shuffling pages together and closing the file.
“Did you see anything coming towards you at all? Any flash of light?”
Mr Wilson jolted, having half-forgotten about Jotaro’s presence. With a hand over his heart to calm himself, he responded with a perturbed expression. “No, I didn’t. Did you not hear me say that earlier, young fella? Whatever it was, must’ve been invisible. Or tiny. I saw nothing coming towards me, not outside or inside the car, and nothing in my legs, although the pain told me a different story altogether. Worse than shrapnel it was.”
Jotaro stood, tucking the file under his arm and placing one hand in his pocket.
“Did you see anyone in that street - or the other one - before the attack occurred?”
The older man shook his head, folding his hands and resting his chin on them, elbows leaning heavily on the armrests of his chair.
Jotaro inclined his head, barely touching the peak of his hat.
“Thank you for your time.”
Before he could make it to the door, a loud cry of ‘Wait!’ stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned, a hundred questions lurking in his eyes but none passing through his lips.
Mr Wilson was tapping one armrest at a rapid pace, brow deeply creased as he rubbed his temple with his other hand.
“Actually I... I did see someone. Forgot about it but talking to you about the whole thing just made me remember. There were two fellas at the end of the first road, walking a fair way’s away from us. One of ‘em was blond, and the other was wearing a cap. I don’t see how they could’ve been involved in this here thing since they were so far off but, maybe you know more than I do about what happened.”
Jotaro nodded, less in agreement and more in acknowledgement. “That’s helpful, thank you.”
Mr Wilson waved him off, saying it was nothing.
As Jotaro reached the door, the older man called out “Good luck with your investigation young fella!”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Jotaro’s mouth as he left.
It was a long forty-five minute drive back to the hotel room SPW booked for him. They based him out in Portstewart, for safety purposes, or so they claimed. It was a small seaside town, relatively quiet until the tourist season kicked in, and far enough away from Derry to prevent anyone tailing him without being spotted by an SPW worker. Jotaro himself didn’t know who was an SPW worker here, or where they were stationed. Effectively, he was on his own unless trouble found him. Even then, there was only so much the SPW could do, especially if a Stand user was involved.
Part of him wondered if Joseph ever had to do anything like this, and if he blatantly disregarded any warnings given to him by the Foundation. Likely, given the old man’s tendencies, he did.
Collapsing onto his bed with a soft sigh, he rubbed his knuckles against his eyes in hopes of waking himself up for at least a little bit longer. Jetlag was a curse he hadn’t been able to defeat even after all these years of travel. The bags under his eyes could attest to that. Once, after a particularly rough flight home, Jolyne had spent an entire day referring to him as ‘Panda’ instead of ‘Papa’. History could very well repeat itself when he went home this time; he was getting tired, in more than just the physical way.
He kicked off his shoes and reached for the phone beside his bed, before remembering that his wife and daughter were away to visit grandparents for the week, and he didn’t have that phone number with him. With a muttered ‘yare yare’ and a resigned sigh, he dragged himself off the bed and over to the desk, flicking on the lamp and bracing himself for yet more reading, more researching, more thinking. At least he had something to go on, for now.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
The following three days were slow, dragging on eternally - or at least, that’s how it felt. He’d drive back to the city, park on the outskirts, and make his way into the centre. Eyes alert but footsteps heavy; an invisible weight around his ankles that he couldn’t shake. The greyness of the streets didn’t help - it made him feel all the more washed out.
More than once he’d had to call out Star Platinum to enhance his vision when he spotted a potential suspect in the distance - judging from the lack of startled expressions there weren’t any Stand users around here. It was reading text that he struggled with the most, however. Shop signs blurred at times, and when the light vanished in the evenings it became almost impossible to read anything nearby to him. Halfway towards turning twenty-eight was a bit early to have deteriorating eyesight, he thought. There’d be time to worry about that later, though.
He had a job to do, and he couldn’t return home until he’d finished it.
By the fourth day he was losing patience altogether. He knew the city as well as he knew his hometown now; which side-streets were safe and which weren’t (he’d learnt this the hard way, after encountering some less-than-savoury characters looking for his wallet), which sides of the city were occupied by one religious denomination or another, and where he could find the best lookout spots.
People-watching was something he shared with his grandfather (although he didn’t know it), and he’d quickly learnt several people’s daily routines. Most notably those of the police that patrolled the streets. One always stepped into the café that served as Jotaro’s research base to greet his girlfriend and pick up something sweet before continuing on his way towards the bridge that crossed the river. He did this at the exact same time every day, and by the fourth day he’d added a curt nod - directed at Jotaro as he passed him - to the routine.
Jotaro returned it, before sipping his tea and returning his gaze to the streets.
They were busier today, chatter filling the air like fog, and the ground still damp from the previous night’s rainshower. Rumours flew around about a ceasefire, a peace agreement, but it meant very little to the foreigner. Little splashes faded in and out as people passed him by; they stared less than before, but enough for him to notice. When he met their gazes, most would look away and pick up speed. One small child simply cocked her head, curious, ignoring her mother’s whispers that it was rude to stare.
As a smile stretched across her face, he couldn’t help but return it with a smaller one of his own. She clapped her hands excitedly and began whisper-shouting to her mother, who was pink in the cheeks from embarrassment and refused to make eye contact with Jotaro. He murmured a quiet yare yare with another smile as they walked away, and shifted in his seat.
Soon, he told himself.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
‘Soon’ was going to arrive faster than expected.
He’d traipsed through the main streets, across the bridge and back; the dark bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever, shoulders slumped. The previous night had been spent pouring over documents and files he’d been faxed by the SPW Foundation until the early hours of the morning. Partially due to losing track of time, and partially because desperation was starting to sink in; he was running out of leads and in all honesty his patrols and people-watching sessions were not revealing just who this Stand user was. It seemed likely that the man was from the area known as the “Bogside” by locals - most of the photos were taken in that area, and it was well known for being a place of particular unrest in the city. But beyond that he could only hazard guesses. No other Stand activity had been picked up in the surrounding area; it really seemed that this man was a lone wolf.
Jotaro grimaced as the sun momentarily came out from behind a cloud and blinded him, pulling the peak of his cap down to shield his eyes. He almost collided with someone as he crossed the bridge for the second time that day, ignoring their yelp of surprise as he side-stepped them with a fluidity that didn’t match his bulky stature.
Maybe he hadn’t been careful enough when it came to summoning his Stand? He could have been spotted without realising it. No, if that were the case he would have received a warning of some kind or another. No one knew who he was, nor how long he was going to be in the city; the Stand user would want to scare him off. Going dormant indefinitely was an action that wouldn’t fit with a man who directly attacked policemen on duty, just for potentially encroaching on his territory. At least that’s what Jotaro had gleaned from the information he could gather.
Almost all the attacks could be linked to territory feuds. He’d wandered into the Bogside in the hopes of drawing the Stand user directly-- but no luck. Thus, here he was again, crossing the bridge and heading towards his usual spot, exchanging a nod with the policeman as he passed him, paper bag clutched in hand.
As he approached the café, he spotted the little girl from the day before pulling her mother into a large store, mannequins wearing pretty dresses posed in the window. Just as his hand reached for the door handle, a sudden scuffling noise along with a clamour of voices caught his attention. He turned, only to be met with a number of people wearing balaclavas throwing something through the now-broken window of the clothes shop, and running.
Flames burst into life, gobbling up the window display and prompting loud screams from within the building. That wasn’t what startled Jotaro, however; one of the men had shattered the other window like he had the first, with a-
“Stand.”
The word slipped out without him fully registering it. But there was no doubt that that was what he could see in front of him. Tiny needles peppered the window, cracking the glass upon impact and eventually doing enough damage to shatter it altogether. A gruesome-looking creature loomed beside the man, oozing orange plasma from its joints, before dissipating in an instant.
Jotaro barely had time to shield his eyes as a smoke bomb collided with the road beside him, engulfing the area in thick, pungent clouds of grey.
Gritting his teeth, he braced himself to go after the man, until he heard a child’s scream from behind him.
“Help! Help! Someone help my mummy, please! Help! ”
He froze, torn.
As the group disappeared around the corner and the crackle of flames grew louder, he clenched his fists and sighed exasperatedly, turning to dash through the growing smoke.
The little girl that had smiled so brightly the day before was now in floods of tears; face grimy and sooty, and her knees scraped from where she’d fallen in an attempt to run for help.
Jotaro knelt down beside her. “Where is your mother?”
She wiped her eyes, small sobs still slipping out as she pointed towards the shop. “In there, she fell down and I couldn’t get her to move! Everyone was running and didn’t hear me.”
He looked up, and sure enough the street was now filled with panicking crowds, people dashing in all directions, calling for help, the police, the fire brigade.
“What’s your name?”
“A-Amy...” she whimpered, sniffing loudly.
“Amy, I’m going to go and see if I can help your mother. Stay here, and don’t move, got it?”
She looked up with wide eyes, but nodded.
“Good.”
Running into a burning building was probably a stupid idea, in retrospect, but given that it was likely the girl’s mother was unconscious, he might as well try to get her out before the smoke killed her.
Keeping close to the ground, he covered his mouth with his hat, eyes watering as the smoke grew dense the further he went in. He spotted Amy’s mother in seconds, passed out on the floor. An ominous creaking noise drew his gaze and he saw a large shelf beginning to fall as the bottom half of it burned.
He cursed and called out his Stand, and just like that, it was silent.
The flames froze, the shelf slowing to a complete halt as the world dimmed around him.
It was like moving through treacle, but although he was out of practice, he was able to snatch up the unconscious woman before she was crushed beneath the shelves. Time resumed with a deafening crash as he ran out of the shop, the rubble catching fire in his wake.
Sirens wailed in the street and Amy came running towards him despite his firm instruction to stay put, garbled words tumbling out of her mouth. He could make out a ‘thank you’ but his focus was on finding a paramedic, not responding to the child. The policeman from earlier found him first, looking thoroughly dishevelled, and called him over to where an ambulance sat waiting. He found himself having to walk slower as Amy clung to the bottom of his coat, stumbling at times and still hiccuping.
The policeman took the woman from his arms, placing her on a trolley the paramedics had brought around and filling them in on what had happened. Jotaro snuck a glance at the little girl still sniffling and clinging to his coat. She caught his eye, and looked up, tugging on his coat. “Is my mummy going to be alright?”
Once again he crouched down - an instinct drilled into him by now - placing his hands on his knees. “Yes. She needs to go with these people, but you can go too. Let the doctors check you over if they want to. They’ll help you and your mother.”
He stood, ignoring how one of his knees popped, and turned to see if they were ready to leave. He felt a tug on his coat and looked down, startled when he saw Amy with her arms reaching towards him, lower lip trembling.
“Yare yare you want me to pick you up?”
She nodded, pouting, not once lowering her arms.
He sighed again and leaned down, scooping her up and walking towards the ambulance.
As she buried her face in his shoulder, he felt a jolt of familiarity run down his spine, but shook it off.
The policeman soon took her off his hands - despite her protests - and lifted her into the ambulance. Now that more officers had arrived he could go with her to the hospital alongside her mother. He stared Jotaro down for a long time, before finally saying “Thank you. You’re a brave one.”
Jotaro simply grunted, adjusting his cap and stepping back to allow the ambulance staff past him.
Amy’s face was still tear-stained and blotchy from crying, but she managed a watery smile as she waved at her hero. “Bye bye!” she called, before the doors closed.
A gentle wave, almost more of a salute, was his reply.
Dusting off the soot, he began to continue his search; he now had a visual on the man he was tracking down, and a vague idea of where he went. Long strides took him towards the bridge in a matter of moments. The attack taking place on this side confirmed his suspicions that the Stand user’s territory was probably on the Bogside.
The river glittered as it flowed under the bridge, the sun catching the tops of the distant trees and turning them gold. From this position the city almost seemed peaceful. Tranquil.
But the smell of smoke and charred clothing lingered still, and Jotaro marched forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he thought of little Amy's terrified expression.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
The sidestreets were less of a maze and he saw more than one wary look thrown his way as he completed circuit after circuit, looking for any sign of the gang that had terrorised the clothes store earlier that day.
He hadn’t been able to shake the creeping sense of disquiet that had washed over him when the Stand user passed him by; it was like being submerged in icy water.
As he turned a corner, he felt it again and stopped dead in his tracks, eyes darting everywhere.
Two people had halted near him, and were staring at him with the same sense of alarm, although the second looked more frightened than alert.
Run.
That’s what his instincts were telling him, but he knew better than to turn his back on someone that was a Stand user. Instead, Jotaro planted his feet, staring back at the other man with an unflinching gaze. Finally, he’d found him.
Here would be as good as anywhere else to deal with him.
Pale grey-blue eyes sized the foreigner up, and then the man waved his companion on. The boy can’t have been older than seventeen, Jotaro noted.
“I’ll handle this lad, you go on and have a wee dander down the road there.” he murmured; the boy had been eyeing Jotaro like a cornered animal. But once the man clapped him on the shoulder he bolted, glancing back once or twice as he ran before disappearing around a corner, black material clutched in his hands.
With the young man gone, the blond’s smile lost its warmth, teeth bared in a grin that was almost malicious.
Although he couldn’t be entirely sure this was the man he’d been looking for - he hadn’t actually seen his face at the site of the bomb scare - something in him just knew he’d found the culprit at last, despite there being no Stand in sight.
He had been one of several blond-haired thirty-something-year-olds to cross Jotaro’s path today - never mind during the previous three days - but he could feel that this man was the one he’d been looking for. He’d been the first to catch Jotaro’s eye and not flinch; the first to carry a familiar aura despite being a total stranger to him.
An old phrase echoed through his mind: ‘ Stand users attract other Stand users ’.
Nearly a decade ago Abdul had likened the effect to that of the red string of fate. Inevitable encounters predestined by forces outside of human understanding.
This was one of those times where Jotaro no longer doubted the truth of that statement.
Part of him knew that even if he hadn’t been tracking this man down, he would have run into him eventually during his time here. His search and the attack on the shop had simply sped the process up.
“So you’re the one who’s been sticking his nose into other people’s business and running about the place like one of the peelers, hm?”
Jotaro resisted the urge to step back as his opponent began to walk closer, slowly but steadily, and never broke eye contact.
The streets were empty; his footsteps echoed loud as a gunshot.
One, two, three.
“It’s as much my business as anyone else’s.”
That earned him a laugh. The older man snorted, mock-wiping his eye of tears not shed.
“Your business? Your business? My god that’s rich!” His lips curled into a sneer. “Listen, I don’t know who decided to involve you as the messenger boy but you can pass along a wee note back to them when I’m finished with you.”
The sky was beginning to bleed orange whilst smoky clouds started to meld together into looming castles.
Still in the days of black cloth (perhaps a subconscious act of mourning), Jotaro melded into the shadows, a hint of sea green under his cap the only giveaway that he was a living being, not a statue.
His opponent removed his hands from his pockets and curled them into fists, his expression turning dark.
“Tell them they can fuck off because no one, and I mean no one, is going to get in our way.”
Jotaro tensed, his Stand shimmering into existence beside him.
The man looked startled for a split-second before his lips curved into a cruel grin.
“Oh this will be fun.”
Glass shattered behind him as he ducked out of the way once again, his arms bleeding from several knicks inflicted by his opponent’s Stand. Close-range, he’d discovered, was not an advantage to him, and he’d mistakenly believed the man’s Stand had good range but weak power. Although the needles did admittedly do less damage from a distance, they were still sharp.
The Stand itself was an ugly creature, covered in spines and oozing at the joints. Its fingers acted as dart guns - fast and easily reloaded to allow a constant barrage of thin needles against an opponent. At a guess, he estimated its speed to be somewhat less than that of Star Platinum’s - but it had so far kept him at bay, so he couldn’t confirm that just yet. His Stand couldn’t shield against the needles - he’d learnt that the hard way.
“So how did you get yours, lad? Did the people you work for have a pretty arrow too?”
Jotaro froze.
Arrow?
“What? Are you going to stay silent? Come now we could still have a wee chat. If you’re a good lad I could even talk to the boss about letting you join us. You’d make a pretty penny! Probably more than whatever you’re making now playing detective.”
Self-preservation came second to information and containment of threats, in his book.
Jotaro stepped out from the alley, into the glow of a streetlight. Although it didn’t seem too pleased Star Platinum had dissipated temporarily, buzzing impatiently under Jotaro’s skin. The blond man was only a short distance from him, less than five metres away. His Stand was on all fours beside him, teeth bared but otherwise holding off on attacking for now.
“Can I take it that I said something of interest to you?” the blond man grinned toothily.
“Who’s your boss?”
He tsked and sighed disappointedly. “Now why would I tell you something as important as that? You’re just going to take the information and go running back to mummy, aren’t you? I see I mistook what kind of interested you are. Oh well.”
His Stand rose to its hind legs and, unfurling its fingers, fired.
Before he could blink Star Platinum had caught all ten needles, two of which had gotten dangerously close to his eyes. He looked past the gleaming, softly glowing slivers of light with a hardened stare.
The man, although surprised, looked more bemused than anything. His Stand growled, more of the plasma-like liquid dripping from between its teeth.
“So you’re a fast one too, are ya? And stubborn to boot. How tedious.”
The next two minutes were a blur.
Jotaro’s efforts to get within range and his opponent’s to keep his distance became an increasingly complex dance.
Duck.
Block.
Step.
Dodge.
Run.
Clash.
His opponent’s Stand crumpled like tin under Star Platinum’s fist with a whine, flimsy as paper but making the same noise as buckled steel.
There was a gruesome snap, followed by a howl, as the blond man collapsed to the road, clutching at his legs. One was bent at an impossible angle. He looked like he’d been kneecapped, but with even greater brutality than usual.
“You...b-bastard...” he hissed, flinching back as Jotaro closed the distance in one stride and crouched down.
“Who has the arrow? Your boss, or someone else?”
After a miserable wheeze, the man spluttered “Like I’d tell you. What do you take me for? Stupid?”
Star Platinum had its hand around the other Stand’s throat in a flash, and squeezed.
Wild eyes stared back up at Jotaro, hands scrabbling at the invisible force tightening around the man’s throat.
“Alright...” he rasped. “Alright. Alright, lad! E...nough. Let me...go.”
Star loosened its grip but made no indication that it would remove its hand anytime soon.
Although his face was scrunched up in pain still, the man cleared his throat.
“Weren’t my boss that gave me that.” He nodded in the direction of his Stand, which was looking more and more like a pitiful animal as it cowered under Star Platinum’s hand, orange eyes darting about looking for an escape.
“Someone higher up the food chain, so it was. But that’s why you won’t win, lad. This is bigger than you can imagine, and you’re on your own here.”
Knowing it was intended to unsettle him, Jotaro instead found himself cold, the confirmation of what he already knew merely settling in his mind like frigid water.
“I’m aware.”
“Are you, though? Are you really that knowledgeable about what’s happening here? Don’t underestimate them lad.”
“‘Them’? Who are you talking about? Who are you working for?”
He chortled, although it came out more like an agitated cough. “I work for...my boss. And his higher-ups. And so on and so forth.” A lazy wave of his hand followed, though Jotaro could see the wince around his eyes that gave away the pain it caused him.
“You might as well kill me because I’m not a snitch. That’s all you’re getting from me, lad. I gave you a warning; heed it. You can’t track them all down. So do yourself - and anyone who’s working with you - a favour, and keep your nose out of it. You have a wife, don’t you?”
Jotaro subconsciously touched the ring on his finger.
“Aye I spotted that earlier when you were standing staring at me like you could turn me into stone.”
The pathetic smile the man attempted revealed a bloody mouth and yellow teeth.
“Find a less dangerous line of work, lad.”
“I can’t.”
He doesn’t want to think about the weight of that statement.
“That’s a pity.”
Jotaro didn’t respond.
Instead, he pulled out his phone, careful eyes trained on the man whilst Star kept his Stand pinned to the ground. Although he hadn’t met with any SPW workers there in person there was one he called, and who called him in return. His fingers flickered over the keys from memory, and he brusquely informed her of his location, the situation, and - as soon as she finished speaking in turn - hung up.
They planned to fly in, pick up both, treat injuries and get the man to co-operate as a supergrass.
Her voice was loud in the deserted street, echoing hollowly, static from interference distorting the sounds.
The Stand began to writhe under Star Platinum’s grip, pulling his attention away momentarily.
“You don’t know what you’ve done, lad.”
He’s not fast enough to prevent what happened next.
Bang.
Red spattered the street, matching the now-angry sky above.
A second gunshot rang through the air but catching bullets was second nature to his Stand by then. The whirring of a helicopter’s blades began to draw closer. Curtains twitched, expectant eyes waiting for the spotlight to blaze a trail through the streets, or hoping to catch a glimpse of the scuffle. His assailant didn’t fire again; the bullet pinged off the hard ground, and lay still at Jotaro’s feet.
“Fuck.”
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
The water that washed over his feet sent shivers running up his spine. Here the sea was murky, sandy, a far cry from the clear blue of Miami. But it was the sea nonetheless; the same one to pass by Florida’s shores.
His right foot stung as it was submerged, the wounds from the day before not yet healed.
A hot shower at the hotel had run off the crimson pouring from his arms and legs, and he’d taken his time bandaging them. Taking a first aid kit with nothing more than a grunt of appreciation, he’d eased himself out of the car, hobbling into the hotel against his wishes to remain uninteresting to the staff there. Their voiced concerns were waved off without a word. Shuffling into the lift, he had pulled his coat tighter, grateful for the way black hid the blood blooming on his legs like poppies.
A shell bumped into his toes, washed ashore by gently lapping waves. He contemplated his choices, before bending down and plucking it from the sand, brushing the small tuft of seaweed from it.
Deep brown, with thin baby-pink threads tracing the curve of the familiar snail-shell shape; the inside was pale pink, reminiscent of the cherry blossoms he’d walk past in spring back home. Well, what was home, he corrected himself.
All at once he saw, saw, how many shells were scattered across the beach, and it was then that he remembered the project he left back in Florida.
Home, he reminded himself.
The next hour involved little more than slow strides, the occasional cry of a seagull, and plenty of crouching, inspecting shells for those that fitted his plans best. He had to call on his Stand once or twice when his vision blurred, making it nigh-on impossible to distinguish one shell from another at his feet without crawling on all fours.
The clarity was jarring.
He eventually sat up on a dune, satisfied with his collection, watching children race down a larger one, tumbling at times and leaving clouds of sand in their wake. They dusted themselves off, laughing and running straight back up again to repeat the adventure.
A dog snuck up from behind him and - before he could react - a large wet nose had acquainted itself with his face. Star Platinum appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye. The dog didn’t seem to realise or care that it had interrupted his peace; it continued to sniff around him, and Jotaro petted its head, a bemused smile crossing his face. It licked one of his ankles before perking its ears; a woman called it away, waving and shouting an apology as it bounded towards her, tongue lolling.
Jotaro raised a hand in kind, shaking his head. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Part of him wondered if he might ever bring Jolyne and his wife here; there was a peace on the strand that remained untainted. The sky was pale blue, grey and white clouds spread like thin brushstrokes from one end to the other, far as the eye could see. Splashes of colour peppered the beach - windbreakers, people, dogs, a few scattered individuals on boards out in the water. The waves weren’t strong enough for surfing, but their laughter carried on the breeze as they beached and tumbled into the surf.
The shells are tucked into the pocket of his coat, hidden, safe.
☆☆☆☆☆