Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The desert stretched endlessly beneath a bruised evening sky, dry wind dragging sand across broken stone while distant thunderclouds gathered low along the horizon like something waiting patiently to swallow the entire world whole. Horses thundered hard across the uneven terrain, their breathing ragged from exhaustion after days of racing through unforgiving heat and endless miles of dust.

Johnny Joestar leaned low against Slow Dancer’s neck while pain burned through his shoulders and spine from lack of sleep and constant fighting. Somewhere behind him, Gyro shouted something nearly lost beneath pounding hooves and whipping wind, but Johnny barely listened anymore. His focus remained fixed entirely on the pressure hidden beneath his coat where one of the Corpse parts rested wrapped tightly against his body. Ever since obtaining it, every mile of the race had become bloodier. Stranger.

Like the world itself bent unnaturally around anyone unfortunate enough to get close to the Saint’s remains. Johnny could feel it now even while riding—the awful weight of destiny pressing heavier against his chest with every passing hour. Then suddenly Slow Dancer jerked violently beneath him, nearly throwing him sideways as another horse burst out from behind jagged rocks ahead. Silver Bullet. Johnny’s eyes widened immediately before narrowing hard beneath the dust whipping across his face.

Diego Brando cut directly into his path without warning, forcing both horses dangerously close together while sand exploded beneath pounding hooves. “Move!” Johnny snapped furiously. Diego only smirked beneath wind-tangled blond hair, blue eyes sharp with something colder than amusement tonight. “Unfortunately, Joestar,” he called over the storming wind, “I require something currently in your possession.” Johnny’s stomach twisted immediately. “The hell’re you talking about?” Diego laughed once under his breath. “Please. You truly think I wouldn’t notice you suddenly becoming far too interesting to too many dangerous people?” Slow Dancer reared sharply as Diego pushed Silver Bullet harder against him from the side.

Johnny cursed loudly while struggling to keep balance. “Back off, Brando!” “Hand over the Corpse part.” The sentence hit like ice through Johnny’s chest. So Diego knew. Of course he knew. That bastard noticed everything eventually. Johnny’s expression hardened instantly while Tusk flickered faintly near his shoulder through the blowing dust. “Funny Valentine sent you?” Diego’s smirk widened slightly at the name. “Smart boy.” “You’re workin’ with him?” “Temporarily.” “You really are a selfish bastard.” Diego’s eyes sharpened dangerously at that. “And you’re still naïve enough to believe morality matters during a race built on bloodshed.” Before Johnny could answer properly, Diego suddenly slammed his horse harder sideways into Slow Dancer again. The collision nearly threw Johnny completely from the saddle this time.

Everything happened violently fast afterward.

Johnny reached instinctively for his gun while Diego lunged directly from Silver Bullet onto him before he could properly react. The impact sent both of them crashing brutally into dirt and stone beside the trail while frightened horses bolted ahead riderless through clouds of sand.

Pain exploded through Johnny’s shoulder the second his body slammed against the ground hard enough to knock breath from his lungs entirely. “Damn it—!” he gasped sharply before Diego grabbed fistfuls of his coat and drove him roughly onto his back again. “Give it to me,” Diego hissed immediately, voice low and vicious near his face. Johnny shoved hard against his chest despite dizziness clouding his vision. “Go ta hell.” Diego punched him sharply across the jaw hard enough to snap Johnny’s head sideways against the dirt. Pain burst hot through his mouth instantly. “I am rapidly losing patience with you.” “Funny,” Johnny spat blood into the sand beside them, “I lost patience with you months ago.” Diego’s expression darkened immediately. Wind tore wildly through both their hair while distant thunder rolled heavier overhead now.

Sand scraped painfully across Johnny’s face beneath Diego’s weight pinning him down. God, he had forgotten how physically strong Diego actually was when he stopped holding back. Johnny tried reaching toward Tusk again, but Diego caught his wrist violently before slamming it hard against the ground. “Enough games.” “Get the hell off me!” “Then surrender the Corpse part.” “No.” Diego stared at him several seconds after that, breathing unevenly from exhaustion while something dangerous flickered behind his eyes now. Not just anger. Desperation. Johnny noticed it immediately. “What’d Valentine promise you?” he demanded harshly. “Money? Power?”

Diego laughed bitterly beneath his breath. “You still don’t understand me at all, do you?” “There ain’t much ta understand.” “No,” Diego replied coldly, “that’s precisely the problem.” Then suddenly his hands closed hard around Johnny’s throat.

Johnny’s entire body jerked instantly beneath him.

At first the pressure shocked him more than the pain itself. Diego had threatened violence countless times before during the race, but this felt different immediately. Personal. Real.

Johnny grabbed fiercely at Diego’s wrists while choking sounds tore uselessly from his throat. “D—Diego—” Diego shoved him harder against the dirt instead, fingers tightening mercilessly beneath Johnny’s jaw. “Do you have any idea,” Diego hissed through clenched teeth, “how exhausting it becomes watching you throw yourself into death over and over for things you barely understand?” Johnny struggled violently beneath him while darkness flickered faintly around the edges of his vision already. “L-let—go—” “No.” Diego leaned closer, expression twisted now beneath the storm-dark sky overhead.

“You ride toward destruction every single time someone offers you purpose because you’re terrified of existing without one.” Johnny clawed desperately against Diego’s hands while trying to force air back into lungs refusing to cooperate anymore. Panic surged violently through him as pressure built hotter behind his eyes. “You think this Corpse will save you?” Diego snapped. “You think becoming some martyr suddenly gives meaning to your miserable life?” Johnny’s chest burned unbearably now.

His heartbeat pounded violently against Diego’s palms while sand and dust blurred together beneath dimming vision. Somewhere nearby thunder cracked loud enough to shake the earth itself. Johnny tried forcing Tusk forward again, but his movements had already weakened badly from lack of oxygen. Diego’s face hovered above him blurred and furious and heartbreakingly familiar all at once. “You infuriate me,” Diego spat harshly. “Every reckless thing you do makes me want to drag sense into you by force if necessary.” Johnny’s fingers slipped weaker now against Diego’s wrists.

The world narrowed frighteningly fast around them. Wind. Sand. Thunder. Diego’s blue eyes burning above him like wildfire. Johnny’s mouth opened soundlessly while panic twisted colder through his chest. He genuinely could not breathe anymore.

Then suddenly Diego froze.

For one horrible second neither moved.

Johnny barely registered the shift at first through the roaring inside his ears, but something changed across Diego’s expression instantly. The rage fractured. Cracked open beneath the sight of Johnny struggling underneath him. Johnny’s hands had grown weaker now, movements desperate and uneven against Diego’s wrists while his vision darkened rapidly around the edges. Their eyes locked properly for the first time since the fight began. And Diego looked horrified.

Not by the violence.

By himself.

The realization hit Johnny dimly through fading consciousness.

Then Diego released him immediately.

Not gently.

Not carefully.

One second his fingers were crushing hard against Johnny’s throat, forcing darkness across the edges of his vision while panic clawed violently through his chest, and the next the pressure vanished all at once. Air ripped sharply back into Johnny’s lungs so suddenly it hurt.

His entire body jerked hard beneath Diego while ragged choking breaths tore from his throat uncontrollably. Johnny rolled partly sideways in the dirt coughing violently enough to make his ribs ache while sand stuck wetly against his face from the sudden rain beginning to pour around them. Above him thunder cracked loud enough to shake the desert floor itself. Johnny’s hands clawed instinctively against his own throat while he struggled desperately to drag enough oxygen back into burning lungs.

Every breath came broken and painful. Harsh. Wet. He could still feel Diego’s fingerprints throbbing beneath his skin. Meanwhile Diego remained exactly where he was—still straddling Johnny’s waist in the dirt, still breathing hard from the fight while rain soaked steadily through blond hair hanging messily across sharp blue eyes. For several seconds neither of them moved properly. Johnny coughed again hard enough to spit blood and saliva into the mud beside his face while Diego stared down at him with an unreadable expression somewhere between fury and something far more dangerous.

Then finally Johnny rasped hoarsely through uneven breaths, “You… insane bastard…” Diego’s jaw tightened immediately. “You refuse to stop pushing people until they break.” Johnny barked out a rough breathless laugh despite the pain shredding through his throat. “Funny comin’ from you.” Diego leaned closer suddenly, one hand still planted hard beside Johnny’s shoulder against the dirt while rain hammered violently around them both. “Do you have any understanding,” he hissed coldly, “how exhausting you are?” Johnny glared upward through watering eyes while struggling for steady breath again. “Get… off me.” “Not yet.” “The hell d’you mean not yet?” Diego’s expression darkened further beneath another flash of lightning splitting the sky overhead. “You would’ve reached for Tusk again.” Johnny coughed sharply before snapping back hoarsely, “Yeah? No shit.” Diego laughed once beneath his breath then. Not amused. Bitter. Sharp enough to cut. “Exactly.”

Rain poured harder now.

Cold water soaked quickly through both their clothes while thunder rolled endlessly through the dark desert around them. Johnny’s chest still burned viciously from lack of oxygen, every inhale scraping painfully against raw lungs while Diego remained heavy across his waist refusing to move aside. God. Johnny hated how physically trapped he felt beneath him. Hated how close Diego’s face remained above his own beneath storm-dark skies and flickering lightning.

Their fights always became too physical somehow. Too personal. Every argument between them eventually collapsed into violence like neither of them knew any other language once emotions sharpened enough. Johnny shoved hard against Diego’s shoulder again despite weakness still trembling through his arms. “Move.” Diego caught his wrist immediately before it connected properly. “You truly never learn.” “Screw you.” “Mm. Original.” Johnny glared murderously upward while trying unsuccessfully to steady his breathing. “You almost killed me.” Diego tilted his head slightly at that, rainwater dripping steadily down sharp cheekbones now. “Almost.” Johnny stared at him in disbelief. “That’s your defense?” “Defense implies guilt.” Johnny let out another rough cough before snarling, “God, I oughta shoot you.” Diego’s mouth twitched faintly beneath the storm. “You’ve threatened that several times already.” “And one day I’m actually gonna do it.” “No,” Diego replied quietly, gaze sharpening strangely, “you won’t.” The certainty in his voice made something twist uncomfortably beneath Johnny’s ribs.

He hated that tone. Hated how Diego always spoke sometimes like he understood things about Johnny nobody else could see properly. Rain streamed heavily down both their faces now while lightning illuminated the desert in violent white flashes around them. Johnny became painfully aware of Diego’s hand still wrapped loosely around his wrist where he pinned it near the ground. The realization made anger surge hot through his chest again. “Get your damn hands off me.” Diego glanced briefly downward before releasing him at last, though he still didn’t move away completely. “Satisfied?” Johnny immediately shoved hard against his chest again trying to force distance between them. Diego barely shifted. “You’re heavier than you look,” Johnny muttered bitterly through ragged breaths. Diego actually smirked faintly at that. “And you’re weaker than you pretend.”

Johnny almost punched him again immediately afterward.

Instead he settled for glaring hard enough to kill while dragging another painful breath into lungs still refusing to work correctly. The storm worsened overhead, rain slamming down hard enough now that mud gathered rapidly beneath them both while wind whipped sharply through soaked hair and clothing. Somewhere nearby Slow Dancer cried out restlessly from farther down the trail while Silver Bullet pawed impatiently against the ground through thunder and lightning. Neither horse dared approach while their riders remained locked together in violence beneath the storm. Johnny finally managed to push himself partly upright despite Diego still straddling him, chest heaving hard from exhaustion and adrenaline. “You really sold yourself out ta Valentine?” he demanded harshly. Diego’s expression cooled instantly again. “You speak as though loyalty was ever part of this race.” “There’s a difference between survival and bein’ somebody’s damn attack dog.”

Diego laughed sharply beneath the rain. “You still cling to morality like a drowning man clutching driftwood.” “At least I ain’t workin’ for that psycho.” “No,” Diego snapped immediately, blue eyes flashing dangerously now, “you’re merely throwing yourself directly into his path over and over while pretending it’s noble.” Johnny opened his mouth furiously before another violent coughing fit cut him off. Pain ripped sharply through his throat while Diego watched him struggle with narrowed eyes. “Pathetic,” Diego muttered. Johnny wiped roughly at blood near his mouth while glaring upward again. “You choked me half ta death.” “And yet you continue speaking.” “Yeah, unfortunately fer you.” Diego’s mouth twitched faintly again despite himself. God. Johnny hated how quickly Diego could shift from murderous rage back into that infuriating arrogance like violence meant absolutely nothing to him afterward. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Diego truly moved through the world detached enough that nearly killing someone barely registered emotionally once anger cooled.

The thought unsettled Johnny more than he wanted to admit. Then suddenly Diego leaned down closer again until their faces hovered only inches apart beneath pouring rain. “Listen carefully, Joestar,” he said quietly now, voice nearly drowned beneath thunder overhead. “The Corpse is destroying everyone who touches it. Valentine understands that. I understand that. But you…” His gaze darkened sharply. “You keep charging toward it anyway like suffering gives your life meaning.” Johnny’s expression hardened immediately. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Diego barked out a bitter laugh. “Unfortunately I know far too much.”

Lightning split violently across the sky overhead.

For one brief second the entire desert illuminated bright white around them both. Johnny could see every sharp line across Diego’s soaked face clearly then—the anger, exhaustion, frustration burning beneath his expression while rainwater streamed steadily down his throat and jaw. Their faces remained painfully close still. Too close. Johnny became abruptly aware again of Diego’s weight pressing hard against his waist pinning him into mud and stone beneath the storm. Neither moved away. Neither seemed willing to break the tension first.

Johnny swallowed hard despite pain still throbbing through bruised skin around his throat. “You done?” he rasped eventually. Diego stared at him several seconds longer before answering quietly, “Not remotely.” Johnny rolled his eyes despite himself. “Christ, Brando, you ever stop talkin’?” “Only when people worth speaking to disappear.” “That supposed ta be a compliment?” “God no.” Another silence crashed heavily between them afterward while thunder rolled lower through the mountains surrounding the desert trail. Johnny’s breathing had finally steadied somewhat now though every inhale still burned sharply.

He could feel bruises forming already beneath his jaw where Diego’s hands had crushed against his throat moments earlier. The bastard nearly killed him. The realization kept replaying through Johnny’s head strangely now that panic faded enough to think clearly again. Diego noticed his expression shift slightly. “What?” Johnny hesitated before muttering bitterly, “You looked like you meant it.” Diego’s gaze sharpened instantly. “Meant what?” “Killin’ me.” Rain hammered endlessly around them. Diego looked away first. Not guilty. Never that. Just irritated somehow. “You force people into extremes,” he muttered eventually. Johnny snorted weakly despite the pain. “So now this’s my fault too?”

Diego glanced sharply back toward him again. “Did I say that?” “Didn’t have ta.” For several long seconds neither spoke afterward. Then unexpectedly Diego laughed once beneath his breath while pushing wet blond hair back from his face. “Honestly, Joestar, you truly are infuriating.” Johnny glared upward immediately. “You already said that.” “Because it remains true.” “Well you ain’t exactly easy ta deal with either.” “No,” Diego agreed calmly. “But unlike you, I’m at least self-aware about it.” Johnny barked out another rough humorless laugh. “Self-aware? You just strangled somebody in a rainstorm over magic corpse parts.” Diego smirked faintly beneath the lightning. “And yet somehow you still sound surprised.”

The argument should have continued.

Normally it always did.

Every conversation between them eventually spiraled harder until somebody reached for violence again. But something felt different now beneath the storm. Heavier somehow. Johnny couldn’t properly explain it. Maybe because Diego still hadn’t moved away. Maybe because nearly dying left too much adrenaline trapped violently beneath Johnny’s skin. Or maybe because despite everything—the choking, the threats, the bruises already darkening beneath his throat—Johnny still understood Diego better than he wanted to admit.

He understood desperation. Understood clawing viciously toward survival because the alternative felt unbearable. Funny Valentine promised Diego something. Power. Safety. A future beyond poverty and humiliation and weakness. Of course Diego accepted. Men like Diego always chased survival first because life taught them too young nobody else would protect them otherwise. The thought made Johnny angrier somehow. “Valentine’s usin’ you,” he muttered eventually. Diego’s expression cooled instantly. “Careful.” “I mean it.” “And I mean careful.” Johnny ignored the warning anyway. “You really think he gives a damn what happens ta you once he gets the Corpse?” Diego leaned down slightly closer again, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’re making assumptions about things beyond your understanding.” “No,” Johnny snapped back harshly, “I’m sayin’ you’re smarter than this.”

The sentence landed strangely between them. Diego blinked once. Just once. Then his jaw tightened faintly while rain streamed down both their faces beneath constant thunder overhead. “Do not,” Diego said very quietly now, “attempt to psychoanalyze me while pinned underneath me in the mud.” Johnny snorted despite himself. “Then quit sittin’ on me.” Diego almost smiled at that. Almost. Instead he only shook his head faintly beneath the storm before finally pushing himself upright at last. The sudden absence of his weight felt strangely jarring against Johnny’s body afterward. Diego stood above him breathing hard while rain lashed violently around them both. Johnny remained partly sprawled in mud catching breath slower now while glaring upward with exhausted hatred tangled somewhere dangerously close to something else entirely.

Then Diego extended one hand suddenly toward him. Johnny stared at it suspiciously. “…What.” Diego rolled his eyes immediately. “Honestly, Joestar, if you make me repeat myself I may reconsider strangling you properly this time.” Johnny hesitated another second before reluctantly grabbing his wrist. Diego hauled him sharply upright through pouring rain. The second Johnny regained footing properly he shoved hard against Diego’s shoulder again out of pure principle. Diego barely moved. “There,” he muttered dryly. “Violence. I was beginning to worry your personality had changed.” Johnny coughed roughly before snapping back, “Still hate you plenty.” Diego’s gaze lingered strangely on bruises darkening around Johnny’s throat now before flicking upward again. “Good.”

Rain slammed mercilessly against the desert trail while Johnny dragged himself forward through thick mud one arm at a time, every movement painfully slow beneath the weight of soaked clothing and exhaustion crushing down against his body. His gloves disappeared wrist-deep into black sludge each time he reached ahead, shoulders trembling violently from effort while rough coughing fits kept interrupting his breathing every few seconds. God. His throat hurt so badly now that even swallowing rainwater felt like broken glass grinding beneath his skin.

The bruises Diego left behind already looked monstrous beneath flashes of lightning splitting the storm-dark sky overhead. Finger-shaped marks wrapped darkly around Johnny’s throat in ugly shades of purple and red-black, vivid enough that they almost looked painted onto his skin. Diego’s thumbs left deeper bruising directly beneath Johnny’s jawline where pressure crushed hardest while smaller crescent indentations from fingernails cut sharply against swollen flesh near the sides of his neck. Every breath stretched the bruises painfully. Every cough sent agony ripping through damaged muscles beneath the marks. Mud soaked entirely through Johnny’s sleeves now while rainwater dripped steadily down his face and tangled blond hair into his eyes.

Somewhere farther down the trail Slow Dancer paced anxiously through the storm, visible only occasionally whenever lightning illuminated the desert in harsh white flashes. Johnny focused entirely on reaching the horse because right now standing wasn’t even remotely possible. His legs remained useless beneath him, dead weight dragging through freezing mud while the Corpse part hidden beneath his coat pulsed faintly against his chest like something alive. Behind him, Silver Bullet shifted restlessly against the storm while Diego remained mounted several yards away watching in complete silence. That irritated Johnny almost more than the choking itself. Finally he spat muddy rainwater sideways before rasping hoarsely, “You plannin’ ta keep watchin’ me crawl all night?” Diego adjusted the brim of his soaked hat slightly while lightning flashed pale across sharp blue eyes. “You’re making surprisingly good progress considering your current resemblance to roadkill.” Johnny coughed harshly before glaring back over one shoulder. “Go ta hell.” Diego smirked faintly beneath the rain. “You first.” Thunder exploded violently overhead then, loud enough to shake the ground beneath them both. Johnny flinched instinctively before dragging himself forward another few miserable feet through the mud. His arms already burned badly from effort. God. Everything hurt. Behind him Diego clicked his tongue softly. “Honestly, Joestar, you look pathetic.” Johnny barked out one rough humorless laugh despite pain shredding his throat. “Says the bastard who nearly killed me.” Diego’s gaze flicked briefly toward the bruises around Johnny’s neck before sliding away again. “You survived.” “Barely.” “Yet you continue talking.” Johnny stopped moving long enough to glare murderously backward again through pouring rain. “You got a real shitty way a’ checkin’ if somebody’s alive.” Diego’s mouth twitched faintly at that.

Another lightning flash illuminated the bruises around Johnny’s throat clearly enough this time that even Diego’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly while looking at them. They really did look horrible now. Rainwater rolled steadily through deep fingerprint-shaped bruises darkening more violently by the minute beneath pale skin already swelling visibly around Johnny’s windpipe. Some marks stretched almost entirely around his neck where Diego’s grip tightened hard enough to crush bruises into both sides simultaneously. The skin beneath Johnny’s jaw looked raw and mottled from where he fought desperately against Diego’s hands while suffocating in the dirt moments earlier. Every time Johnny coughed now, pain visibly twisted through his face afterward despite how stubbornly he tried hiding it. Diego watched another few seconds before speaking quietly beneath the storm. “Valentine’s men are less patient than I am.” Johnny snorted weakly while dragging himself farther through mud. “That supposed ta scare me?” “No,” Diego answered calmly. “It’s supposed to keep you alive long enough to remain useful.” Johnny rolled his eyes hard despite exhaustion threatening to drag him unconscious already. “Real touching concern there, Brando.” Diego leaned slightly forward in the saddle while rain streamed heavily down sharp cheekbones and soaked blond hair flat against his forehead. “Listen carefully, Joestar. If Valentine’s men find you alone in this condition, they’ll either kill you immediately or drag you half-dead back to him for interrogation.” Johnny coughed again before muttering bitterly, “And somehow you’re the better option?” Diego actually laughed softly beneath the storm at that. “Considerably.” Johnny kept dragging himself forward another few feet before answering quieter, “Funny way a’ showin’ it.” Diego’s gaze sharpened immediately. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” “Yeah, unfortunately.” “Then stop complaining.” Another silence settled heavily between them afterward while thunder rolled endlessly across the desert sky overhead. Johnny’s movements slowed further now from sheer exhaustion. Mud clung heavily against his coat and gloves while rainwater chilled him straight through soaked clothing into bone-deep cold. His throat felt worse every minute too. Swallowing had become nearly impossible now from swelling beneath the bruises. Finally Diego sighed sharply through his nose. “You move slower than a corpse.” Johnny didn’t even look back this time. “Then leave.” “Tempting.” “Seriously.” Johnny dragged himself another foot through mud before muttering hoarsely, “Ain’t like you owe me anything.” Diego fell strangely quiet after that. Silver Bullet shifted beneath him restlessly while rain battered hard against leather saddle straps and dark rocks surrounding the trail. Then finally Diego spoke again, colder now. “Don’t misunderstand the situation.” Johnny frowned faintly before glancing back over one shoulder again. Diego stared directly at him through the storm, expression sharp beneath flickering lightning. “If you die out here,” Diego said quietly, “it will not be because Valentine’s dogs tore you apart in the mud after I left.” Johnny blinked once. Diego continued before he could answer. “I’ve known you too long to allow someone else that privilege.” Lightning cracked violently overhead. Johnny stared at him several seconds through pouring rain before barking out one rough disbelieving laugh. “That’s somehow the creepiest thing you ever said ta me.” Diego smirked faintly again. “You should feel honored.”

Johnny hated how much that sounded like Diego.

Not kind.

Never kind.

Not protective in any normal human way either.

Possessive almost. Violent. Twisted through rivalry and ego and years of unresolved hatred sharpened into something stranger. Johnny coughed harshly again before forcing himself farther through the mud toward Slow Dancer still pacing nervously down the trail. Every movement became harder now. His arms trembled violently beneath his weight while rain blurred the world around him into streaks of gray and silver beneath constant lightning flashes. Behind him Diego remained mounted in silence another minute before finally steering Silver Bullet forward slowly until his horse paced alongside Johnny’s dragging movements. “Your horse keeps circling back toward you,” Diego remarked idly. “That animal has catastrophically poor survival instincts.” Johnny wiped muddy rainwater roughly from his face before muttering, “Slow Dancer’s smarter than most people.” “That includes you.” “Screw off.” Diego looked downward again toward the bruises around Johnny’s throat while another cough tore painfully through him. “You really are damaged.” Johnny’s expression hardened immediately. “You did that.” “Mm.” Diego tilted his head slightly beneath the rain. “And now Valentine’s scouts will notice those marks from fifty feet away.” Johnny glared upward sharply. “You worried somebody’ll think you played rough?” Diego laughed once under his breath. “No. I’m irritated because they make you visibly vulnerable.” Johnny snorted weakly. “That’s rich comin’ from the guy workin’ for Valentine.” Diego’s expression cooled instantly again. “Temporary alliances do not equal loyalty.” “Sure.” “You think too simplistically.” Johnny dragged himself another few feet before rasping bitterly, “I think stranglin’ people usually means they ain’t on your side.” “And yet,” Diego replied smoothly, “you still haven’t shot me.” Johnny opened his mouth immediately before stopping. Because damn it, Diego was right. Even now. Even after nearly blacking out beneath those hands moments earlier, Johnny still hadn’t reached properly for Tusk again once Diego let him breathe. The realization twisted uncomfortably through his chest. Diego noticed the hesitation instantly too. Of course he did. “There it is,” he murmured quietly. “That ridiculous hesitation you always get around me.” Johnny’s jaw tightened hard. “You’re imaginin’ things.” “Am I?” Lightning flashed bright white across the desert around them both. Diego’s eyes remained fixed sharply on Johnny beneath the storm. “Most people would’ve killed me already for less.” Johnny looked away immediately afterward while rain hammered harder against the mud around him. God. Diego really noticed everything.

Finally Johnny reached a large enough rock to brace himself partly upright against while breathing hard through another coughing fit. Pain shredded viciously through bruised muscles around his throat now. He pressed muddy fingers carefully against the marks instinctively before hissing sharply from tenderness beneath swollen skin. Diego watched from horseback nearby another second before speaking again. “Does it hurt?” Johnny glared upward instantly. “What d’you think?” Diego shrugged lazily despite the storm. “You’ve survived worse injuries.” “Not from somebody’s damn hands around my neck.” “Fair.” Johnny coughed roughly again before muttering bitterly, “You really got issues.” “Profoundly.” Diego dismounted smoothly then without warning. Johnny immediately stiffened against the rock. “The hell’re you doin’?” Diego ignored the question entirely while crouching down near him through pouring rain. Up close the bruises looked even uglier now beneath constant lightning flashes. Dark swollen fingerprints wrapped almost completely around Johnny’s throat while harsh red pressure marks spread unevenly beneath his jawline. Diego studied them several seconds before clicking his tongue softly in irritation. “You bruise terribly.” Johnny stared at him blankly. “…What.” “It’s distracting.” “You almost crushed my windpipe!” “Yes,” Diego replied calmly. “And now I’m forced to look at the evidence.” Johnny barked out another rough incredulous laugh despite pain. “You’re unbelievable.” Diego smirked faintly. “Frequently.” Then before Johnny could react properly, Diego pulled one glove free using his teeth and reached toward Johnny’s throat. Johnny jerked back immediately. “Don’t touch me.” Diego rolled his eyes dramatically. “Relax. I’m checking the damage.” “You ain’t a doctor.” “No,” Diego agreed dryly, “but unlike you, I possess functioning observational skills.” Johnny still looked deeply suspicious while Diego’s fingers hovered near bruised skin. Then carefully—far more carefully than Johnny expected—Diego tilted Johnny’s chin slightly upward through the rain to examine the swelling properly beneath the marks his own hands left there moments earlier. The irony nearly made Johnny laugh again.

For several seconds neither spoke.

Rain crashed endlessly around them.

Diego’s bare fingers remained cool against Johnny’s jaw despite the storm while his expression sharpened into concentration rarely visible outside races and combat. “Swelling’s worsening,” he muttered eventually. “No shit.” “If breathing becomes difficult again—” Johnny cut him off immediately. “You mean more difficult than when you were actively choking me?” Diego’s mouth twitched faintly despite himself. “Must you make every conversation exhausting?” “You tried ta kill me!” “Correction.” Diego removed his hand finally before standing again through the rain. “I stopped.” Johnny stared upward several seconds after that while thunder rolled violently overhead once more. God. That answer somehow disturbed him more than an apology would’ve. Because Diego genuinely meant it. In his mind the important detail wasn’t the violence itself. It was the fact he chose to stop before finishing the job. Johnny rubbed roughly at bruised skin around his throat while glaring upward bitterly. “You’re seriously insane.” Diego slid his glove back on slowly beneath the storm. “Probably.” “And Valentine trusts you?” “Valentine trusts results.” Johnny coughed again before muttering quieter, “That’s gonna get you killed someday.” Diego looked down at him strangely then. Not angry. Not amused. Something else flickering briefly behind sharp blue eyes before vanishing again beneath arrogance. “Please,” he said softly. “If I die, Joestar, it certainly won’t happen because someone underestimated me.”

Johnny opened his eyes slowly.

For several long seconds he did not understand where he was. The memory still clung heavily to him like cold rainwater soaked into skin too deeply to dry properly. He could still feel mud beneath his hands. Still feel Diego’s fingers against bruised skin around his throat while lightning split open the desert sky overhead. God. Johnny inhaled sharply before immediately wincing because even imagining those hands around his neck again made his chest tighten painfully. The cabin remained dim around him now, silent except for weak wind brushing softly against the windows outside. At some point he must have fallen asleep sitting at the table because his neck ached from the awkward position and one of Diego’s letters had slipped halfway onto the floor beside his chair. Johnny rubbed tiredly at his face before looking slowly around the room as if expecting the memory to still exist physically somewhere nearby. But there was nothing. No storm. No Diego. No mud or thunder or violence. Just the lonely cabin and seven unread letters waiting beneath weak morning light spilling through the windows. Johnny swallowed hard while exhaustion settled heavily into his chest again. Why did he keep remembering these things now? Why Diego? Out of every broken fragment lost after the accident, why did his mind cling so viciously to moments involving him? Johnny pressed one hand briefly against his eyes while grief twisted slowly beneath his ribs. Because the worst part was not remembering anymore. The worst part was realizing how much Diego had apparently mattered long before either of them understood what they were becoming to one another.

The seventh letter rested near the bottom of the pile.

Johnny stared at it for a long moment before finally pulling it free carefully.

His hands still looked faintly unsteady.

Goddamn Diego.

Even dead, he kept tearing old wounds open inside Johnny’s head one by one.

Finally Johnny unfolded the paper slowly beneath pale morning light and began reading.

“I think Funny Valentine frightens me more than I ever admitted aloud.

There. An embarrassing sentence immediately at the beginning. You should feel honored, Joestar. I generally reserve honesty like this for situations involving imminent death.

Though perhaps that is exactly what this is.”

Johnny’s expression tightened faintly.

Already the tone felt different this time.

Sharper.

Less nostalgic.

Diego’s handwriting looked rougher too, ink pressed harder into certain words as though the thoughts behind them resisted being written properly.

“I have spent most of my life around dangerous men. My father was dangerous in pathetic ways. Aristocrats in England were dangerous in boring ways. Racers during the Steel Ball Run became dangerous whenever money or desperation cornered them hard enough. But Valentine…” The handwriting pressed darker there. “Valentine terrifies me because he genuinely believes his own righteousness. Men like that are far worse than ordinary monsters because they stop recognizing cruelty once they convince themselves history will forgive it afterward.”

Johnny leaned back slightly in the chair while reading slower now.

Outside, wind moved softly across the fields beyond the cabin.

“He will kill everyone if necessary.

Gyro.

You.

Me.

Anyone standing between him and the Corpse.

And the horrifying part is that he will mourn none of it afterward because in his mind every corpse becomes acceptable if the final result looks noble enough.”

Johnny’s throat tightened unexpectedly.

Because Diego was right.

God, he was right.

Funny Valentine always spoke like sacrifice became beautiful the second it served patriotism. Like bloodshed transformed into virtue if enough flags stood nearby while people died.

Johnny remembered the president’s smile.

Calm.

Polite.

Absolutely terrifying.

The letter continued.

“I think you understand this already, unfortunately.

That stubborn expression you wear whenever Valentine’s name appears tells me enough. You look at him like someone staring down fate itself, and perhaps that is precisely what he has become for you now. But I need you to understand something, Johnny.”

Johnny’s eyes slowed over the next lines.

For the first time since beginning the letters, Diego’s writing looked almost frantic.

Not messy.

Controlled too tightly.

As though fear itself sat hidden beneath every carefully measured sentence.

“You cannot save everyone.

You especially cannot save everyone by destroying yourself.

I know you, Joestar. Better than I probably should. Once you decide another person’s suffering matters more than your own survival, you become reckless in ways that border on suicidal. You throw yourself directly toward danger every single time because some part of you still believes your life only gains value through sacrifice.”

Johnny stared blankly ahead for several seconds after reading that.

Because hearing someone describe him so accurately felt almost unbearable now.

The letter continued quieter afterward.

“And perhaps that sounds hypocritical coming from me considering the amount of blood currently coating my own hands.

But there is still one difference between us.

I fight to survive.

You fight like surviving barely matters.”

Johnny lowered the page slightly.

Something painful twisted deep beneath his ribs now.

The next paragraph looked shakier than the others.

“I need you to stay alive.

God, even writing that sentence feels humiliating.

But I mean it.

If Valentine corners you, run.

I know how ridiculous that sounds considering your personality. You would rather crawl bleeding across shattered glass than retreat from something once your pride becomes involved. Still, I am asking anyway.”

Johnny’s chest tightened harder with every line now.

Because Diego almost never asked for things directly.

Not sincerely.

Not without sarcasm shielding every vulnerable edge.

Yet this letter felt stripped raw somehow.

Honest in ways Diego probably hated while writing it.

“I keep imagining what happens if he kills you.

And every version ends badly.

You die believing your suffering accomplished something meaningful while Valentine continues marching forward over everyone else’s bodies afterward. Or worse—you survive just long enough to realize none of it changed anything before dying anyway.

Selfishly, I cannot tolerate either possibility.”

Johnny swallowed hard.

The cabin suddenly felt too quiet around him again.

The final paragraphs looked roughest of all, ink darker where Diego’s hand pressed too heavily against the paper.

“I know you think I am cruel.

Perhaps I am.

But despite everything between us, despite every argument and every threat and every violent thing we have done to one another during this race, the thought of this world existing without you inside it feels… wrong.”

Johnny’s breathing slowed unevenly now.

Then came the final lines.

Small.

Sharp.

Painfully Diego.

“So please survive this, Joestar.

Because if you die…

what exactly am I supposed to do afterward?”

Johnny kept staring at the seventh letter long after he finished reading it, fingers curled tightly enough around the paper that the edges bent slightly beneath his grip. Morning light had shifted farther across the cabin floor now, pale gold stretching through the quiet room while dust drifted lazily through the air around him. Everything felt too still. Too silent after Diego’s words settled so heavily inside his chest. Please survive this, Joestar. Because if you die… what exactly am I supposed to do afterward? God.

Johnny swallowed hard before lowering the paper slowly onto the table beside the others. His coffee sat untouched nearby, thin steam barely rising from the mug anymore. The cabin smelled faintly of wet wood and cold rain from the night before. Johnny leaned back in the chair while exhaustion dragged visibly through his face, one hand pressing briefly against his eyes as though he could physically stop the ache building there. Then quietly, almost bitterly, he muttered toward the empty room, “Too bad you died first.” The sentence sounded wrong immediately after leaving his mouth. Hollow. Angry in the way grief often became when there was nobody left alive to aim it toward properly. Johnny stared down at the table another few seconds before finally grabbing the coffee and taking a long swallow despite the bitterness. It tasted awful. Burnt and cold. But he barely noticed anymore because his thoughts had already begun drifting elsewhere again, slipping backward through old memories without permission. It happened easier now after each letter.

Like Diego’s words kept unlocking doors inside Johnny’s head that had remained sealed shut for years after the accident. This memory surfaced slower than the others at first. Metal shaking violently beneath him. Steam hissing loudly somewhere outside. The deafening rhythm of train wheels crashing endlessly against tracks beneath the floor. Johnny’s gaze unfocused slightly while the cabin around him faded piece by piece until all he could hear anymore was the roar of the train carrying him straight toward disaster.

The memory sharpened all at once afterward. Johnny sat cornered near the far end of a narrow train compartment while the entire car rattled hard enough to make hanging lanterns sway overhead. Outside the windows, dark desert blurred past beneath weak evening light while rain streaked sharply against the glass from the growing storm surrounding the train. His body already hurt from earlier fights. Blood dried stiff against one sleeve while exhaustion dragged heavily through every muscle after days of chasing Corpse parts across endless miles of violence and dust. Tusk flickered faintly near his shoulder before vanishing again while Johnny pressed one hand against his side, breathing slower through lingering pain. Directly across from him stood Funny Valentine beneath flickering overhead light, calm as always despite the speed of the train screaming around them. The president’s coat shifted softly with every violent movement of the car while his pale eyes remained fixed entirely on Johnny with unbearable patience. God, Johnny hated that look. Valentine always stared at people like he already understood exactly how they would break apart eventually. “You’ve become remarkably difficult to predict, Johnny Joestar,” Valentine said smoothly over the thunder of the tracks. Johnny glared immediately. “Funny. Everybody keeps sayin’ that before I shoot ‘em.” Valentine smiled faintly at the threat, entirely unbothered. “Your confidence remains admirable despite your circumstances.” The train lurched violently around a sharp turn, nearly throwing Johnny sideways despite how tightly he braced himself against the seat behind him.

Valentine barely moved at all. “You know,” the president continued calmly, “most men in your condition would have surrendered by now.” Johnny barked out a weak humorless laugh. “Most men ain’t me.” “No,” Valentine agreed softly. “That is precisely the issue.” He began walking slowly closer afterward, polished shoes clicking steadily against the train floor while the compartment rattled violently around them. Johnny’s pulse tightened immediately beneath his ribs. Every instinct screamed warning now. Tusk flickered weakly near his hand again. “Stop there,” Johnny snapped sharply. Valentine ignored him completely. “You continue sacrificing pieces of yourself for this Corpse as though suffering somehow validates your existence.” “The hell’s that supposed ta mean?” “It means,” Valentine replied quietly while stepping nearer still, “you mistake pain for purpose.” Johnny’s jaw tightened hard. “You talk too damn much.” Valentine’s smile widened faintly. “And you avoid thinking too deeply about yourself whenever possible.”

The train roared louder beneath them while thunder cracked somewhere outside beyond rain-streaked windows. Valentine finally stopped only several feet away now, close enough that Johnny could clearly see the calm certainty settled permanently behind those pale eyes. That certainty frightened Johnny more than rage ever could. Valentine never doubted himself. Never hesitated. Men like that became monsters easily because conviction erased guilt long before bloodshed ever truly began. Johnny kept one hand tense near Tusk despite exhaustion slowing his reactions now. “I ain’t givin’ you the Corpse,” he muttered coldly. “I know,” Valentine answered simply. “Which is why I am trying something different.” Johnny frowned immediately. “What?” Valentine tilted his head slightly while studying him in unsettling silence another moment. Then quieter now beneath the thunder of the tracks: “You are very lonely, Johnny Joestar.” Johnny’s expression darkened instantly. “Screw you.” Valentine ignored the insult entirely. “People shaped by isolation eventually become desperate for connection in ways they rarely understand themselves.” “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” “You.” Valentine stepped closer again. “You carry grief like armor. Anger too. Yet underneath both, there remains a man so starved for affection that he mistakes violence for intimacy whenever someone stays beside him long enough.”

Johnny’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “You’re full a’ shit.” Valentine crouched slightly near him then, movements slow and deliberate while the train screamed through rain and darkness around them. “Am I?” Johnny pressed himself harder back against the corner instinctively despite hating himself for reacting at all. The compartment suddenly felt far too narrow. Too hot. “Long time since someone touched you gently, hasn’t it?” Valentine asked quietly. Johnny immediately snapped back, “I’m not some damn girl, asshole.”

The president smiled faintly. “I never implied femininity.” Johnny’s pulse hammered harder now while Valentine’s gloved hand lifted slowly toward his face. “You confuse vulnerability with weakness,” Valentine murmured. “But every human being eventually wants comfort, Johnny. Even wounded men like you.” Johnny slapped the approaching hand away instantly with a furious glare. “Don’t touch me.” Valentine looked almost amused afterward. “Interesting.” “Back the hell off.” “Or what?” The train rattled violently around them while lightning flashed white through the windows for one brief second. Johnny’s breathing had grown uneven now beneath anger and instinctive warning clawing violently through his chest. Valentine remained far too close. Calm. Controlled. His gaze moved slowly over Johnny again in ways that made Johnny want to break his jaw immediately. “You know,” Valentine murmured thoughtfully, “it has probably been years since another person touched you with genuine affection rather than pity.” Johnny’s face twisted sharply with disgust. “Christ, you’re creepy.” Valentine almost laughed beneath his breath. “And yet I suspect I am not entirely incorrect.”

Johnny’s fingers tightened hard enough against the seat edge that his knuckles whitened visibly. God. Something about the entire situation felt wrong in ways he couldn’t properly explain. The train compartment suddenly seemed too small for breathing. Valentine’s voice stayed unbearably calm while the storm outside worsened by the second, rain hammering hard enough now against the windows that outside scenery vanished completely beneath streaks of gray water and flashes of lightning. “You spend so much time pretending not to need anyone,” Valentine continued quietly. “Yet your entire journey began because you wanted another man’s approval badly enough to destroy yourself pursuing it.” Johnny’s expression hardened instantly. “Shut up.” “George Joestar failed you profoundly.” “I said shut up.” “And afterward you attached yourself to Gyro Zeppeli with almost desperate loyalty because—” Johnny lunged forward violently before Valentine could finish. Tusk burst partially into existence beside him while the train car shook hard enough to nearly throw both men sideways. Valentine caught Johnny’s wrist immediately before the strike properly connected. “There it is,” he murmured calmly. “Violence whenever truth becomes uncomfortable.” “Lemme go.” “You react emotionally for someone pretending complete detachment.”

Johnny shoved hard against him despite the awkward angle trapping him partly against the wall. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Valentine leaned slightly closer instead, expression unreadable beneath flickering overhead lantern light. “Unfortunately,” he said softly, “I know enough.” Johnny’s heart hammered painfully now. Every instinct screamed danger. Not physical danger exactly. Something stranger. Valentine always spoke like he could peel people apart layer by layer until every weakness sat exposed beneath his hands. Johnny hated it. Hated him. “You think loneliness makes people weak,” Valentine continued quietly while still holding Johnny’s wrist firmly. “But in reality, loneliness merely makes them willing to accept terrible things from the first person who stays.” Johnny’s breath caught slightly at that. Just enough for Valentine to notice immediately. “Ah,” the president murmured almost gently. “There it is.” Johnny jerked hard against his grip again. “Get off me.” Valentine’s gaze sharpened faintly. “Tell me something honestly, Johnny.

When was the last time another person touched you with affection rather than obligation?” Johnny stared murderously upward while rain and thunder crashed endlessly around the train. “You really wanna lose teeth tonight?” Valentine smiled faintly. “Avoidance again.” Then slowly—far too slowly—his free hand lifted once more toward Johnny’s face. “You wear isolation visibly,” he murmured. “I imagine someone like Diego Brando noticed that immediately.” Johnny froze instinctively at the name. Valentine noticed everything. Of course he did. “Interesting reaction,” the president observed softly. “I was beginning to wonder whether Brando’s fixation on you contained more emotional complexity than simple rivalry.”

Before Johnny could answer—or punch him properly this time—the train compartment door exploded violently inward.

Cold wind and rain burst through immediately hard enough to extinguish one of the overhead lanterns while thunder roared deafeningly outside beyond the open doorway. Valentine turned sharply. Johnny looked up at exactly the same moment. Diego Brando stood framed in the entrance beneath flickering light and screaming storm winds, soaked blond hair hanging messily across sharp blue eyes while rainwater dripped steadily from the brim of his hat onto the train floor below.

Beside him stood Hot Pants gripping the doorway hard against the train’s violent movements, expression tense beneath flashes of lightning illuminating the compartment in harsh white bursts every few seconds. For one brief second nobody spoke. The train thundered endlessly beneath them while cold wind whipped through the open car carrying rain and steam across the narrow compartment. Then Diego’s gaze flicked once toward Valentine. Once toward Johnny trapped against the corner seat with Valentine still far too close beside him. And immediately something dangerous sharpened visibly across Diego’s expression. “Well,” he drawled coldly into the silence, voice carrying effortlessly even over the storm, “this is already significantly more revolting than expected.” Valentine released Johnny’s wrist slowly before straightening to full height once more. “Brando,” he greeted smoothly. “And Hot Pants. I had hoped your loyalty remained intact slightly longer.” “Please,” Diego replied sharply while stepping fully inside the compartment. “You genuinely expected loyalty from me after attempting to manipulate every person in this race simultaneously?”

Hot Pants kept her weapon trained steadily toward Valentine while the train rattled violently around them. Johnny remained half-breathless against the corner seat watching Diego carefully now because something about his expression looked wrong. Colder than usual. Focused in ways that reminded Johnny unpleasantly of predators seconds before violence erupted. Diego’s gaze flicked once more toward Johnny again—briefly lingering on Valentine’s proximity beside him—before narrowing dangerously. “What exactly,” Diego asked very quietly now, “was happening when we arrived?” Johnny opened his mouth immediately. “Nothin’.” Valentine smiled faintly beside him. “A fascinating conversation regarding human vulnerability.” Diego looked unimpressed. “How unfortunate for everyone involved.” Hot Pants muttered sharply without lowering her weapon, “Can we skip the philosophical bullshit and move directly to killing him?” Valentine sighed softly beneath the storm. “You disappoint me, Miss Hot Pants.” “Good.” Lightning flashed violently through the windows again while Diego stepped farther into the compartment at last, boots echoing sharply against metal flooring beneath the roar of the tracks.

His gaze remained fixed entirely on Valentine now. Sharp. Dangerous. Familiar in the worst possible way. And suddenly Johnny understood with absolute certainty that this train compartment was about to become a bloodbath.

Lightning split violently across the sky outside, illuminating the entire compartment bright white for half a second. In that brief flash Diego saw Johnny clearly. The tension locked visibly through his shoulders. The way his fingers curled tightly against the seat edge near Tusk. The lingering panic Johnny failed completely to hide behind anger quickly enough. Diego’s expression changed almost imperceptibly afterward. Sharper. Colder. Dangerous in a way Hot Pants recognized instantly because she glanced sideways toward him with faint warning already flickering across her face. Valentine noticed too. “Ah,” the president murmured softly. “Interesting.” Johnny immediately snapped back harsher than intended. “What’s interesting?” Valentine folded one gloved hand neatly behind his back while the train rattled hard beneath another violent turn. “Your reaction.” “You talk too damn much.” “Perhaps,” Valentine agreed calmly. “Though I suspect the discomfort currently poisoning this compartment has little to do with conversation itself.” Diego stepped farther forward then, boots echoing sharply against metal flooring beneath the roar of the train. “Careful,” he said quietly. Valentine looked entirely unbothered by the warning. “You seem tense, Brando.” Diego laughed softly beneath his breath. Not amused. Not friendly. Johnny knew that laugh. It meant violence sat dangerously close beneath the surface now. “You seem alive,” Diego replied coldly. “One of us should probably correct that soon.”

Hot Pants sighed sharply beside him. “Can we skip the dramatic flirting and move directly to shooting him?” “You wound me,” Valentine murmured dryly. Johnny barely heard them anymore. His heartbeat still refused to slow properly. Every time he replayed the last several minutes inside his head, fear twisted colder through his stomach all over again. Valentine cornering him inside the compartment while speaking softly about loneliness and touch and isolation. The hand reaching slowly toward his face while Johnny sat trapped against the wall with nowhere left to retreat properly. Christ. Johnny suddenly realized his hands were trembling slightly. He immediately curled them harder into fists hoping nobody noticed.

Unfortunately Diego noticed.

Again.

His gaze flicked briefly downward once before immediately returning toward Valentine.

But Johnny caught it.

And somehow that embarrassed him worse than the fear itself.

Valentine caught it too apparently because his expression softened into something almost thoughtful afterward. “I see,” he murmured quietly. Diego’s eyes sharpened instantly. “No,” he replied coldly, “you don’t.” Valentine tilted his head slightly. “Really? Because Johnny currently looks like someone who only just realized how vulnerable he truly was several moments ago.” Johnny surged upright immediately despite the train violently shaking beneath them. “I said shut up!” Tusk flickered hard beside his shoulder while tension exploded visibly through the compartment.

Hot Pants swore sharply under her breath. Valentine remained infuriatingly calm. “There’s the anger again.” “I’m gonna break your damn jaw.” “Possibly,” Valentine replied smoothly. “But that still won’t change what happened here.” The sentence hit Johnny like ice water straight through his chest. Because that was exactly the problem. Nothing happened. Not technically. Diego and Hot Pants interrupted before anything crossed fully into violence. Yet Johnny still felt terrified anyway because some instinct deep inside him understood exactly how badly the situation could have turned if nobody arrived in time. Valentine stepped slightly closer again despite the tension thickening dangerously around the compartment. “You were frightened,” he said quietly toward Johnny now. “Not of death. Something else.” Johnny’s stomach twisted violently. “Back off.” Valentine’s gaze sharpened faintly. “You genuinely believed I might violate your autonomy in some manner.” “Valentine,” Hot Pants snapped sharply.

Diego moved at the exact same moment. Fast enough Johnny almost missed it. One second Diego stood several feet away beside the train doorway. The next he grabbed Valentine violently by the front of his coat hard enough to slam him backward against the compartment wall with a deafening crash. The train shook hard beneath them while lightning illuminated Diego’s face in stark white flashes. God. He looked furious now. Truly furious. Not mocking. Not competitive. Something uglier. More personal.

“You will stop speaking,” Diego hissed quietly near Valentine’s face.

The compartment suddenly felt freezing.

Valentine looked genuinely surprised for the first time since entering the train car. “Emotional attachment,” he observed softly despite Diego’s grip crushing his collar. “How unfortunate.” Diego shoved him harder against the wall immediately. “No,” he replied dangerously calm now. “What’s unfortunate is that you apparently mistook him being cornered and exhausted for permission.” Johnny’s breath caught sharply. Hot Pants looked briefly between them with growing confusion. “Hold on,” she muttered slowly. “What exactly was happening before we got here?” Nobody answered immediately. Rain hammered violently against the windows while the train screamed endlessly through the storm-dark desert outside.

Valentine remained pinned hard against the wall by Diego’s grip, expression calmer now despite obvious tension tightening faintly through his shoulders. Johnny looked away sharply because suddenly he couldn’t stand anyone staring at him anymore. Goddamn it. The silence itself felt humiliating now. Finally Valentine spoke quietly. “Johnny reacted strongly to a conversation regarding vulnerability.” Diego’s eyes narrowed murderously. “You touched him?” “Not successfully.” That answer made Diego’s expression darken in a way Johnny had genuinely never seen before. Hot Pants immediately swore beneath her breath. “Jesus Christ.” Johnny snapped instantly, “Nothin’ happened.” “Joestar,” Hot Pants said sharply without taking her eyes off Valentine, “you look like you’re about to shoot somebody through the floor.” “I’m fine.”

“That’s obviously bullshit.” Diego still hadn’t released Valentine’s coat. “You frightened him,” he said quietly again. This time the words sounded less like accusation and more like realization settling violently into place inside his own head. Valentine studied him curiously despite the dangerous situation. “You care considerably more than expected.” “Wrong answer,” Diego replied immediately before slamming him harder against the wall once more. The entire compartment rattled violently from the impact.

Johnny stared at Diego in shock for several seconds afterward.

Because Diego Brando almost never lost composure like this.

Anger, yes.

Cruelty constantly.

Violence absolutely.

But this felt different somehow.

Too sharp.

Too personal.

Johnny’s chest tightened strangely while watching Diego keep Valentine pinned there beneath flickering lightning and shaking lantern light. The storm outside worsened every second now. Rain slammed so hard against the windows it sounded almost like gunfire while thunder rolled continuously overhead. Hot Pants finally stepped forward with visible irritation. “Brando,” she snapped sharply, “either kill him or stop glaring at him like a jealous husband.” Diego looked briefly offended. “That is perhaps the most revolting sentence ever spoken inside this train.” Valentine actually laughed softly beneath his breath despite still trapped against the wall. “Interesting choice of wording.” “I’m going to break your teeth now,” Diego informed him calmly.

Johnny rubbed one shaking hand hard across his face while trying desperately to regain control over his breathing. God. He hated this entire situation. Hated that Valentine understood too much now. Hated that Diego clearly understood enough too. Most of all Johnny hated the lingering fear still crawling beneath his skin no matter how angrily he tried covering it. Because he truly had been afraid. Not of dying. Johnny stopped fearing death properly somewhere around the middle of the race after too many corpses piled up behind them across America’s deserts. But this—being trapped beneath Valentine’s attention while physically unable to escape the narrow compartment—felt different. Dirtier somehow. The realization itself made Johnny nauseous.

Then suddenly Valentine looked directly toward him again despite Diego still gripping his coat hard enough to wrinkle the fabric beneath white-knuckled fingers. “You know,” the president murmured thoughtfully, “your fear makes considerably more sense now.” Johnny glared immediately. “The hell’s that supposed ta mean?” Valentine’s pale eyes shifted briefly toward Diego. “Because Brando reacted exactly like someone already emotionally invested in your safety.” Diego groaned visibly. “God, you really cannot stop psychoanalyzing people for even thirty seconds.” “People reveal themselves during moments of crisis,” Valentine replied smoothly. “And currently both of you appear remarkably transparent.” Johnny barked out one rough humorless laugh. “Transparent?” “Yes.” Valentine’s gaze sharpened faintly. “You looked genuinely terrified moments ago, Johnny. Yet the second Brando entered this compartment, your body language shifted immediately despite your continued hostility toward him.” Johnny’s pulse stumbled painfully. “You’re imaginin’ things.” “No,” Valentine answered quietly. “I rarely do.”

Diego released Valentine abruptly afterward.

Not because the anger faded.

Johnny knew immediately it hadn’t.

No, Diego let go because he realized something far more dangerous than violence had already happened inside this compartment: Valentine had noticed too much.

The president straightened his coat calmly afterward while Hot Pants kept her weapon trained squarely toward his chest. Nobody moved closer. The train thundered endlessly through the storm while lightning flickered violently outside rain-covered windows every few seconds. Diego stepped backward slightly but remained directly between Valentine and Johnny now without seeming consciously aware he’d done it. Johnny noticed immediately. So did Valentine. “Protective positioning,” the president observed softly. Diego looked deeply unimpressed. “You genuinely deserve death for how often you narrate obvious things aloud.” Hot Pants muttered under her breath, “For once I agree with him.”

Johnny leaned harder against the corner seat behind him while exhaustion and adrenaline crashed together unpleasantly inside his chest. The compartment still felt too small somehow. Too close. Every time Valentine looked toward him now, Johnny remembered that hand moving slowly toward his face while the train screamed through darkness around them. Christ. He hated that memory already. Diego’s voice cut sharply through his thoughts. “You’re done talking to him.” Valentine tilted his head slightly. “Or?” “Or I’ll feed your spine through the train wheels one vertebra at a time.” Hot Pants snorted quietly. “That’s creative.” Valentine merely sighed.

“Violence truly remains the only language any of you speak fluently.” “Funny,” Johnny rasped bitterly from the corner seat at last. “Comin’ from the guy who keeps tryin’ ta manipulate everybody psychologically.” Valentine glanced toward him calmly. “Psychological pressure often reveals truths physical force cannot.” “Yeah?” Johnny’s expression hardened sharply despite lingering fear twisting beneath his ribs. “Then here’s a truth fer you.” Tusk flickered hard beside him beneath flashes of lightning. “Next time you corner me like that, I’m blowin’ your damn head off before you finish another sentence.” The compartment fell silent afterward except for roaring thunder and metal wheels screaming against the tracks below.

Valentine studied Johnny quietly another moment before smiling faintly. “There,” he murmured softly. “That anger suits you far better than fear.” Diego moved again immediately after hearing that. Fast enough Hot Pants barely caught his sleeve before he lunged forward a second time. “Brando,” she snapped sharply. “Focus.” Diego jerked violently against her grip once before stopping himself through obvious effort. God. Johnny had never seen him this furious before. Not even during races. Not during fights over the Corpse. Something about Valentine frightening Johnny clearly poisoned Diego in ways neither of them fully understood yet. And somehow that realization terrified Johnny almost as much as Valentine himself.

The train compartment rattled so violently it almost felt alive beneath them, metal groaning under impossible speed while rain slammed hard against the windows in endless gray sheets outside. Lightning flashed every few seconds, turning the narrow train car white for the briefest instant before throwing everything back into flickering lantern-shadow again. Funny Valentine stood near the center aisle with that same composed posture he always carried, one gloved hand resting loosely near his coat while Johnny Joestar remained tense against the corner seat, pulse still uneven beneath the memory of Valentine standing too close only moments earlier.

Across from them, Diego Brando leaned near the doorway beside Hot Pants, rainwater still dripping from the edges of his coat onto the metal floor below. Diego’s face remained unreadable now. Not openly furious anymore. Worse than furious, honestly. Calm in that cold dangerous way he became whenever violence stopped being emotional and started becoming calculated instead. Johnny knew that expression well. It usually meant somebody was about to die. Hot Pants noticed it too because she glanced sideways toward Diego briefly before tightening her grip on her weapon. Nobody inside the compartment relaxed.

Nobody trusted the silence. The train screamed onward through darkness while thunder rolled endlessly outside. Then Valentine sighed softly beneath the storm. “This has become tiresome,” he murmured almost to himself. Diego tilted his head slightly. “Then jump off the train.” “Tempting,” Valentine admitted calmly. “Unfortunately, I still require the Corpse.” Hot Pants scoffed sharply. “Yeah? Get in line.” Johnny kept one hand near Tusk despite the lingering fear still poisoning his chest after the earlier confrontation. God. He hated that Valentine probably noticed it too.

The president looked toward him again with those pale unreadable eyes and Johnny immediately felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. Something about the man genuinely felt wrong on a fundamental level. Like standing too close to deep water during a storm and realizing suddenly how easy drowning might become. “You look pale, Johnny,” Valentine observed softly. “You hit my head against steel,” Johnny snapped back immediately. “What’d you expect?” Valentine’s mouth twitched faintly. “Fair enough.” Diego’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the casualness in Valentine’s tone. “You’re awfully relaxed for somebody outnumbered.” “Outnumbered?” Valentine repeated thoughtfully. Then he smiled. “No. I don’t believe I am.”

Everything changed instantly afterward.

D4C appeared without warning.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just sudden impossible movement splitting reality open beside Valentine in a blur of pale limbs and distorted space. The compartment itself seemed to twist violently around the Stand’s appearance while another train door slammed somewhere impossibly nearby despite no adjoining compartment existing there moments earlier. Johnny felt the pressure first before properly seeing it happen. Reality bending sideways. Dimensions scraping violently together. Hot Pants cursed sharply while Diego moved immediately toward Valentine, but D4C reacted first.

Another Valentine stepped sideways through the compartment wall itself like emerging from beneath water. Then another. The narrow train car flooded instantly with overlapping movement and identical faces flickering through impossible angles while thunder exploded overhead. “Shit—” Johnny barely got the word out before the real Valentine moved. Fast. Horribly fast. A polished shoe crashed directly into Johnny’s face hard enough to slam his head violently against the metal seat behind him. Pain detonated instantly through his skull.

Johnny heard something crack sharply before blood burst hot down the side of his face and into his mouth. The world tilted sideways. Christ— another impact slammed downward before he could recover, Valentine’s heel driving brutally against the side of his head while the train shook beneath them hard enough to make the compartment lights swing wildly overhead. Johnny’s vision blurred white for one terrible second. Blood splattered across the floor beneath him.

He couldn’t even summon Tusk properly. Everything happened too suddenly. Too violently. Somewhere nearby Hot Pants shouted something sharp while gunfire exploded through the compartment, but Johnny barely processed it through the roaring pain splitting his skull open. Valentine shoved him hard against the floor again with one foot pressing cruelly against the side of his head while D4C loomed behind him in distorted flickering shadows. “Pathetic,” Valentine murmured quietly above the chaos. “You really were exhausted already.”

Then Diego hit him.

Not with words.

Not threats.

A fist.

Sharp enough to snap Valentine sideways off Johnny instantly.

The impact echoed brutally through the compartment while lightning flashed bright white through every window at once. Valentine stumbled hard against the aisle wall before D4C twisted reality again around him, another duplicate appearing fast enough to intercept Diego’s next strike. Diego cursed under his breath and drove his elbow directly through the duplicate’s face anyway, the body collapsing unnaturally inward like paper folding through itself before vanishing between dimensions entirely. Hot Pants fired again immediately afterward. Bullets tore through the compartment while shattered glass exploded from one of the train windows beneath the storm outside. Wind screamed violently into the compartment now.

Johnny pushed himself shakily upright against the seat despite blood pouring steadily down across one eye. His head rang painfully with every heartbeat. Christ. Valentine’s kick nearly knocked him unconscious instantly. He pressed trembling fingers briefly against the side of his skull and immediately felt warm blood coating his glove. Too much blood. The train swayed hard around another curve while Diego remained locked in brutal close combat with two overlapping Valentines and D4C near the center aisle. No hesitation. No speeches. Diego fought like an animal cornered in a burning room, movements sharp and efficient beneath flickering lightning. Johnny noticed something else too: Diego never once looked toward him while fighting. Not directly. But every time Valentine shifted even slightly back toward Johnny’s side of the compartment, Diego intercepted instantly. Like instinct. Like reflex.

Hot Pants noticed too. “Brando, left side!” she snapped sharply while firing toward another duplicate appearing near the doorway. Diego ducked low beneath the shot and drove his knee directly into Valentine’s ribs hard enough to crack metal wall panels behind him. The president grunted sharply before D4C twisted reality once more, dragging him sideways between dimensions just before Diego’s next blow connected properly. Then suddenly everything snapped still again. The duplicate Valentines vanished. D4C stood silently behind the real Valentine near the far end of the compartment while rain and shattered glass covered the floor around them. Johnny breathed hard through blood dripping steadily down his face while Diego straightened slowly near the aisle, chest rising unevenly beneath soaked clothing. Nobody spoke immediately. Thunder rolled low outside. Then Valentine smiled again.

God.

Johnny hated that smile.

“You really are emotionally compromised,” Valentine observed quietly toward Diego.

Diego wiped blood from the corner of his mouth using the back of one glove. “You say strange things for somebody still breathing.”

“Interesting.” Valentine adjusted his coat calmly despite the blood running from his split lip now. “You didn’t care this much when others died during the race.”

Hot Pants frowned sharply. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Valentine ignored her entirely.

Instead he kept watching Diego carefully now, pale eyes thoughtful beneath flickering lantern light and storm shadows moving across the compartment. “You moved before thinking,” he continued softly. “That’s unusual for you.” Diego laughed once under his breath. Not amused. “No,” he replied coldly, “what’s unusual is your survival rate.” Johnny pressed harder against the seat behind him while dizziness rolled unpleasantly through his skull again.

Blood still dripped steadily from his eyebrow down onto his collar and shirt. Every time the train shook, pain flared violently behind his eyes. Valentine’s boot had split skin open somewhere near his temple. The realization barely mattered compared to the cold fear still lingering underneath everything else. Because the attack happened so fast. One second Valentine stood speaking calmly. The next Johnny was bleeding across the floor beneath him. If Diego and Hot Pants hadn’t interrupted earlier… Christ.

Johnny shoved the thought away immediately before it finished forming properly in his head. Across the aisle Diego’s eyes flicked toward him briefly at last. Just once. Quick enough most people would’ve missed it entirely. But Johnny noticed. And somehow that irritated him worse than concern would’ve. Valentine noticed too, apparently. “There,” he murmured softly. “Again.” Diego’s expression flattened immediately. “You really do enjoy hearing yourself talk.” “I enjoy patterns.” Valentine tilted his head slightly. “And right now both of you are remarkably transparent.” Hot Pants groaned loudly. “This is getting boring.”

Johnny wiped blood roughly away from his eye before muttering, “Please.” Valentine smiled faintly afterward. “Johnny understands exactly what nearly occurred here.” The compartment went colder somehow after that sentence. Diego’s gaze sharpened instantly. Hot Pants looked toward Johnny briefly, expression tightening once she properly saw the lingering fear still buried beneath the anger on his face. Johnny immediately looked away. “Shut up,” he muttered hoarsely. Valentine’s pale eyes remained fixed on him. “Fear changes people.”

Diego stepped forward slowly then. No dramatic posture. No shouting. Somehow that made it worse. “You’re done talking now,” he said quietly. Valentine looked almost disappointed. “And if I refuse?” Diego cracked one bloodied knuckle slowly beneath the storm-light flickering through shattered windows. “Then I stop asking.”

Johnny Joestar remained half-slumped against the compartment floor near the corner seat, blood running steadily down the side of his face from the gash Valentine opened near his temple earlier. His breathing still sounded rough. Uneven. Every inhale scraped painfully through bruised ribs while dizziness rolled behind his eyes hard enough to blur the entire compartment whenever the train lurched too hard around turns.

Funny Valentine stood near the center aisle beside D4C with that same unbearable composure still settled across his expression despite the chaos erupting around them. Rainwater dripped steadily from his coat sleeves onto the floor while broken glass crunched softly beneath polished shoes every time the train shook. Beside the doorway, Hot Pants kept Cream Starter partially manifested around one arm while glaring sharply toward Valentine through flickering lantern light and bursts of lightning outside the windows. And directly between Valentine and Johnny stood Diego Brando, posture unnaturally still now. Calm in the worst possible way.

The storm illuminated his face every few seconds through flashes of white lightning, sharp blue eyes fixed entirely on Valentine without moving once. Then slowly, almost lazily, Diego flexed one gloved hand. Scales spread instantly beneath his skin. The transformation crawled visibly up his wrist and forearm in jagged green-black patterns while claws pushed sharply through fingertips with quiet cracking sounds.

Scary Monsters. The air inside the compartment suddenly felt predatory. Dangerous in a way Johnny recognized immediately from previous fights against Diego during the race. Hot Pants noticed too because she muttered under her breath, “Oh, fantastic.” Valentine’s expression shifted faintly with interest while D4C loomed motionless behind him. “You’ve abandoned restraint,” he observed calmly. Diego smiled slightly then. God. Johnny hated that smile. It never looked human once Scary Monsters began spreading across his body. Too sharp. Too hungry somehow. “No,” Diego replied softly while scales continued sliding slowly across his jawline beneath flickering storm-light. “I’ve simply lost patience.”

Everything exploded afterward.

D4C twisted reality sideways without warning.

The compartment walls folded violently inward while another Valentine stepped directly through the train door behind Hot Pants. Simultaneously a second duplicate emerged from beneath one of the compartment benches near Johnny while thunder cracked loud enough outside to shake the entire train. “MOVE!” Hot Pants shouted instantly while Cream Starter burst outward across the floor in violent pale streaks. Johnny reacted immediately despite the pain hammering through his skull. Tusk flickered hard beside him while nail bullets tore through the compartment toward the duplicate lunging from beneath the seat.

The attack ripped directly through one version of Valentine’s throat—but the body folded unnaturally between dimensions before collapsing entirely, vanishing into nothing. Diego moved next. Fast enough Johnny almost lost sight of him. One second Diego stood motionless near the aisle. The next Scary Monsters fully erupted across half his body while claws slammed directly through the compartment wall beside the real Valentine’s head hard enough to shred metal like paper. Valentine jerked sideways barely in time. Diego’s tail whipped violently behind him, smashing through overhead lanterns while sharp reptilian teeth flashed beneath partially transformed features. Goddamn. He looked monstrous now beneath the storm-light. Not fully dinosaur yet. Worse somehow. Half-human enough to still carry that cold calculating expression while reptilian instincts sharpened every movement into something brutal and predatory.

Valentine ducked beneath another slash from Diego’s claws while D4C intercepted from the side. The impact shook the compartment violently. Diego hissed sharply through clenched teeth while Scary Monsters ripped against D4C’s arm in a spray of torn fabric and sparks from shredded metal walls nearby. Hot Pants fired Cream Starter through another approaching duplicate while Johnny struggled to stabilize Tusk properly through the pounding pain in his head. Everything happened too fast. Reality twisted every few seconds around D4C while alternate versions of the train flickered briefly through existence around them. Rain. Thunder. Gunfire. Claws tearing steel apart. The compartment had become absolute chaos.

Then Valentine saw an opening.

Johnny realized it too late.

D4C shifted dimensions sharply behind Diego, forcing him momentarily sideways while another duplicate Valentine burst through the compartment wall directly beside Johnny’s position. “Johnny!” Hot Pants shouted instantly. Tusk moved—but not fast enough. Valentine’s boot crashed directly into Johnny’s ribs hard enough to lift him entirely off the floor. Pain detonated viciously through his chest. Johnny heard something crack sharply before blood exploded from his mouth across the compartment floor. The force slammed him hard against the opposite wall beneath the shattered window. Glass burst everywhere around him while rain blasted directly into his face through the opening.

Christ— Johnny barely managed to breathe before Valentine grabbed him violently by the front of his shirt and smashed his skull directly against the metal wall behind him once. Twice. Hard enough that Johnny’s vision flashed white. Blood poured instantly down across one eye while dizziness swallowed the compartment whole around him. “Pathetic,” Valentine murmured calmly over the storm. “You were deteriorating already.” Johnny tried summoning Tusk again but his fingers barely worked correctly now. The compartment tilted sickeningly sideways while blood dripped steadily from his jaw onto Valentine’s gloves. Somewhere nearby Hot Pants screamed his name again. Diego turned at exactly the same moment.

And Johnny saw the instant Diego realized how badly hurt he was. The expression barely changed. That was the terrifying part. Diego didn’t shout. Didn’t panic. His face simply went still in a way Johnny had only seen once before during the race—right before Diego fed another racer to dinosaurs without hesitation. Valentine noticed too. “Ah,” he murmured thoughtfully while still gripping Johnny’s shirt.

Scary Monsters lunged instantly afterward.

Diego hit Valentine hard enough to send both of them crashing completely through the compartment divider into the next train car. Metal exploded inward beneath the impact while passengers somewhere farther down screamed in terror. Johnny collapsed hard onto the blood-slick floor immediately after Valentine released him. His body barely responded properly now. Every breath hurt.

Warm blood spread steadily beneath one hand while thunder roared outside loud enough to shake the walls. Hot Pants dropped beside him instantly while Cream Starter spread rapidly across her arms and hands. “Stay awake,” she snapped sharply while grabbing his jaw hard enough to force eye contact. Johnny coughed blood instead of answering. “Fantastic,” she muttered darkly. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to see.” Across the destroyed divider, Diego and Valentine tore through the next compartment with horrifying violence. Johnny could hear it clearly even through the roaring inside his skull. Metal ripping apart. Glass exploding. Scary Monsters snarling somewhere beyond human now.

The train itself groaned beneath the force of the fight while D4C twisted dimensions violently enough to make entire sections of wall disappear temporarily. Hot Pants pressed Cream Starter harder against Johnny’s ribs while muttering sharp curses under her breath. “Multiple fractures,” she hissed. “Head trauma too. Damn it, Joestar.” Johnny tried pushing himself upright slightly but pain ripped viciously through his chest immediately. “Diego—” “Diego’s busy trying to eat the President,” Hot Pants snapped back. “Focus on breathing.” Another crash thundered through the next compartment hard enough to nearly derail the train.

Then suddenly Valentine flew violently backward through the broken divider and slammed across the compartment floor near Johnny again. Blood streaked across his face now while D4C flickered unstable behind him. Diego stepped through the ruined opening a second later—and for one terrifying instant he barely looked human anymore. Scary Monsters had spread across most of his body now. Clawed feet ripped grooves into the metal floor while jagged reptilian teeth flashed beneath lightning-lit shadows. One eye looked slit vertically now like a predator’s. Rainwater steamed faintly against scaled skin. Valentine actually took one cautious step backward. Diego noticed immediately.

And smiled. “What happened?” he asked softly, voice roughened slightly by the transformation. “I thought you enjoyed analyzing people under pressure.” Valentine wiped blood calmly from his mouth despite the tension tightening visibly through his shoulders now. “You’re becoming unstable.” Diego’s tail smashed violently through another train seat beside him without warning. “Wrong answer.” Then he lunged again.

Funny Valentine vanished so suddenly the entire compartment felt wrong afterward.

He was gone.

No dramatic final threat. No last smug remark. Just absence. Empty space where he stood moments earlier while rain hammered through broken windows and thunder rolled endlessly outside. The compartment remained wrecked from the fight. Seats torn apart. Blood smeared across the floorboards. Glass glittering everywhere beneath swinging lantern light. Johnny Joestar barely processed any of it anymore.

His body felt too heavy now. Too cold. Blood kept slipping steadily from the side of his head where Valentine smashed him against the compartment wall while every breath rattled painfully through damaged ribs inside his chest. God. Breathing felt wrong. Wet somehow. Johnny lay half-curled against the ruined floor while rainwater blew softly across his soaked clothes and blood-covered hands. Nearby, Hot Pants pressed Cream Starter desperately against his ribs while muttering sharp panicked curses beneath her breath. “Come on,” she snapped while trying to stabilize the damage beneath torn fabric and blood-soaked bandages. “Johnny—stay awake.”

Johnny blinked slowly toward the compartment ceiling instead. Everything blurred strangely now. The lanterns overhead looked stretched out and distant like stars underwater. He could still hear the train wheels screaming against the tracks beneath them, but even that sounded farther away every second. Across from him Diego remained frozen near the destroyed compartment doorway while Scary Monsters slowly receded from his body at last. The transformation looked disturbingly unnatural in reverse. Scales crawled slowly back beneath pale skin while claws shortened visibly against bloodstained fingers. His tail lashed once sharply behind him before disappearing completely beneath cracking bones and shifting muscle. The slit reptilian pupils in his eyes widened gradually back into something human again. Yet somehow that looked worse. Human Diego standing there covered in blood and rainwater felt far more frightening than Scary Monsters moments earlier. Because now Johnny could properly see his expression.

And Diego looked scared.

Not openly.

Not dramatically.

Diego Brando would rather die than openly panic in front of another person.

But Johnny still saw it.

The stiffness in his posture.

The way his eyes remained fixed too intensely on the blood spreading beneath Johnny’s side.

The way his hands flexed once uselessly after Scary Monsters disappeared entirely, like his body still expected violence to solve the situation somehow.

Johnny stared weakly toward him through blurred vision and suddenly thought absurdly: Oh. Diego really thinks I’m dying.

The realization settled strangely soft inside his chest.

Hot Pants noticed Johnny drifting again and grabbed his jaw sharply. “Hey.” Her voice cracked slightly around the edges now despite how hard she tried sounding angry instead. “Look at me.” Johnny forced his eyes toward her slowly. She looked terrified too. God. That felt even stranger somehow. Hot Pants usually looked exhausted or irritated or murderous depending on the situation, but now genuine panic pulled visibly across her face while Cream Starter worked frantically against Johnny’s ribs beneath trembling hands. “You’re losing too much blood,” she muttered harshly mostly to herself. “Damn it… damn it…” Johnny swallowed weakly.

The movement hurt immediately. Everything hurt now. His chest. His skull. His throat bruised from earlier. Even breathing felt exhausting. He glanced vaguely downward toward the blood soaking through his clothes and suddenly understood with terrifying clarity that this might actually be it. No race. No Corpse. No miracle. Just death arriving quietly inside a shattered train compartment during a storm somewhere in the middle of America. Johnny let out one weak uneven laugh despite himself.

“This…” He coughed hard suddenly, blood spilling warm across his mouth and chin afterward. Hot Pants swore violently beneath her breath. “Don’t do that.” Johnny blinked slowly toward the compartment ceiling again. “…This my end?” Silence followed immediately afterward. Hot Pants froze for one terrible second before pressing harder against his ribs again. “No.” Too fast. Too sharp.

Johnny almost smiled weakly because that answer sounded terrified. “Liar.” “Shut up.” “Always hated when people say that.” “Johnny.” Her voice cracked again. “Please.” That finally made him look back toward her properly. God. She really looked frightened. Johnny’s chest tightened painfully for reasons that had nothing to do with broken ribs now.

Then Diego finally moved.

Slowly.

Not rushed.

That somehow made it worse.

He crossed the ruined compartment through flickering lantern light and shattered glass before crouching beside Johnny at last. Up close he smelled like rain and blood and smoke from torn train metal. Johnny stared weakly toward him while exhaustion dragged harder at the edges of his thoughts now. Diego looked different without Scary Monsters covering him anymore. Younger almost. Human in ways Johnny forgot sometimes during fights. Blond hair soaked from rain hung across sharp eyes while cuts from shattered glass streaked blood down one side of his face and neck.

Yet his expression remained horribly controlled despite everything else. Too controlled. Like he was holding something viciously tight beneath the surface and refusing to let anyone see it properly. Diego glanced briefly toward the blood soaking through Johnny’s shirt before looking toward Hot Pants again. “Can you stop it?” he asked quietly. Hot Pants hesitated. Tiny pause. Barely noticeable. But Diego noticed immediately. Johnny did too. “I’m trying,” she answered finally.

Diego’s jaw tightened slightly afterward. “Useful response.” “Would you rather I lie?” Hot Pants snapped immediately. Diego didn’t answer. His eyes shifted back toward Johnny instead. Johnny tried smirking faintly despite the pain crushing through his chest now. “You look awful too.” Diego stared at him several seconds before replying flatly, “You’re bleeding on the floor.” “Yeah.” Johnny coughed weakly again. “Not ideal.” Another flicker crossed Diego’s face then vanished instantly beneath cold irritation. “You really choose strange moments for humor.”

Johnny blinked slowly toward him. “Maybe I’m scared.” The confession slipped out accidentally. Honest in ways Johnny usually hated. Silence followed again afterward beneath the storm outside. Diego’s expression changed almost imperceptibly. Not softer. Never soft. Worse somehow. Colder around the edges while his eyes sharpened with something Johnny couldn’t immediately name. “Don’t,” Diego said quietly. Johnny frowned weakly. “Don’t what.” “Talk like that.” Johnny almost laughed again. “Since when d’you care how I talk?” Diego looked away briefly toward the broken compartment windows instead of answering.

The train rattled violently around another turn.

Pain exploded sharply through Johnny’s ribs afterward hard enough to make black spots swarm across his vision. He sucked in one broken breath and immediately regretted it. Christ. Something inside his chest definitely felt wrong now. Wet. Heavy. Hot Pants noticed instantly.

“Johnny?” He barely heard her properly anymore. The compartment lights overhead kept dimming strangely. Not actually dimming maybe. His vision just fading apart around the edges. He tried focusing on Diego again because somehow Diego remained the clearest thing left in the room despite everything else blurring into shadows and lantern-light. Funny. Johnny suddenly remembered all those stupid fights during the race. Diego smirking across horse tracks. Diego insulting him constantly. Diego grabbing his collar during arguments. Diego standing in rainstorms looking annoyingly beautiful while pretending nothing in the world frightened him. God. They wasted so much time hating each other.

The realization hurt almost as badly as his chest now. Johnny swallowed weakly before mumbling, “Guess this is it.” Hot Pants immediately grabbed his face harder. “No.” “Can barely breathe.” “I know.” “Real comforting answer.” “Johnny!” Her voice cracked loudly this time. Diego’s eyes snapped sharply toward her after hearing it. Then toward Johnny again. And suddenly Johnny realized his own eyes must’ve started slipping shut because Diego moved immediately afterward. Fast enough to surprise him. One bloody hand grabbed roughly against Johnny’s shoulder and shoved him hard enough to force his eyes open again. “Stay conscious,” Diego ordered flatly. Johnny stared weakly toward him. God. Up close Diego’s eyes looked awful now. Still controlled. Still cold on the surface. But fear sat buried underneath them so deep and sharp it almost looked violent.

Johnny had genuinely never seen Diego afraid before.

Not during races. Not during fights. Not even against Valentine. Yet now—now while staring down at Johnny bleeding out across the compartment floor—Diego looked terrified in the quietest possible way. The realization hit Johnny harder than anything else tonight. “Oh,” Johnny whispered weakly. Diego frowned immediately. “What.” Johnny’s mouth twitched faintly despite exhaustion dragging him downward harder every second. “Nothin’.” Diego clearly didn’t believe him. “You’re doing that idiotic smiling thing again.” “Can’t help it.” “Try harder.” Hot Pants looked between both of them like they’d completely lost their minds.

Johnny’s body suddenly felt unbearably cold afterward.

Not ordinary cold either.

Deep inside his chest and arms and fingers.

He could barely feel his hands anymore beneath the blood drying across them. The storm outside sounded distant now. Soft somehow despite the thunder still shaking the train every few seconds. Johnny stared upward while trying to force another proper breath into damaged lungs. It didn’t work right. Every inhale caught halfway. God. He really was dying, wasn’t he? Funny enough the realization didn’t frighten him as much anymore. Mostly he just felt tired now. Tired and strangely sad. Because suddenly there were too many things left unfinished behind him. Gyro. The race.

Diego. Christ. Diego. Johnny’s eyes shifted weakly toward him again. Diego still crouched nearby beneath flickering lantern-light while rainwater dripped slowly from strands of blond hair onto the floor below. His face looked pale now beneath the blood and exhaustion. Johnny wondered suddenly whether Diego even realized how obvious his fear had become. Probably not. Diego spent most of his life pretending he cared about absolutely nobody. Yet right now every tiny movement betrayed him completely. The way he stayed too close beside Johnny. The way his eyes kept tracking Johnny’s breathing. The tension locked painfully through his shoulders every time Johnny’s eyelids drifted lower.

Johnny stared at him several seconds before whispering quietly, “You’re scared.” Diego’s expression hardened instantly. “No.” Johnny almost smiled weakly again. “Liar.” “You’re hallucinating from blood loss.” “Nah.” Another difficult breath. “Can see it.” Diego looked genuinely angry afterward. Not at Johnny. At the situation. At himself maybe. “You’re impossible,” he muttered quietly. Johnny’s eyes felt heavier every second now. “Diego.” “What.” Johnny swallowed painfully before whispering, “Don’t let him touch me again.”

The sentence hung heavily between them afterward beneath the storm. Diego froze completely still for one terrible second after hearing it. Then his expression shifted into something colder than anger. “He won’t,” Diego said quietly. No hesitation. No arrogance. Just certainty sharp enough to cut flesh. Johnny stared at him weakly afterward while darkness crept steadily inward around the edges of his vision. God. He really believed him too.

Then his eyes slipped shut.

Immediately Hot Pants shouted, “Johnny!”

The panic in her voice cut sharply through the compartment.

Johnny tried opening his eyes again but everything felt too heavy now. Too far away. Somewhere nearby he heard movement—fast sudden movement—and then Diego’s voice for the first time all night sounding genuinely wrong. “Joestar.” Not cold anymore. Not mocking. Sharp with fear hidden badly underneath. Johnny forced his eyes open weakly one final time afterward. The world blurred around him in rain and lantern-light and blood. But Diego’s face remained clear somehow. And there it was again. Those eyes. Wide just slightly. Terrified in ways Diego Brando would rather die than admit aloud. Johnny stared at him through fading vision while thunder rolled endlessly outside the shattered train windows. Funny. He never expected Diego to look at him like that. Then darkness swallowed everything whole.

Johnny jerked awake so suddenly his coffee nearly spilled across the table.

For one horrible second he still felt the train beneath him.

Still heard thunder screaming outside shattered windows.

Still saw blood running down his hands while Diego Brando stared at him with that expression Johnny had never managed to forget afterward no matter how many years passed between then and now.

Fear.

Real fear.

Not Scary Monsters.

Not arrogance.

Not mockery.

Diego had looked terrified.

Johnny pressed one shaking hand hard against his face while breathing slowly through the lingering memory clawing violently back into his chest. God. Every time he remembered that night now, every time another piece returned sharper than before, the letters suddenly made more sense. Too much sense. Diego hadn’t written those things as jokes or manipulation or one more game between rivals. He meant them. Every horrible confusing sentence hidden between insults and arrogance and half-buried confessions—Diego genuinely meant them. Johnny leaned back slowly in the chair while weak afternoon light stretched across the cabin floorboards around him. The room remained painfully quiet except for wind brushing softly against the windows outside. Seven letters still sat unopened nearby.

No.

Six now.

Johnny swallowed hard.

His chest still ached strangely after remembering the train. Not physically anymore. Something deeper than that. Because now he understood exactly why that expression haunted him all these years afterward without fully remembering the scene itself. Diego Brando looked at him like losing him would destroy something inside him permanently.

And Johnny never forgot it.

Even when the rest of his memories vanished after the accident.

“…Damn you,” Johnny muttered quietly toward the empty room.

Then after several long seconds he reached slowly toward another letter.

The paper looked older than the others somehow. Folded too many times. The edges slightly worn beneath Johnny’s fingers as if Diego kept reopening this one before finally deciding to leave it behind anyway. Johnny stared at the handwriting on the front briefly before unfolding it carefully beneath weak light.

Immediately Diego’s voice came alive inside his head again.

Sharp.

British.

Smug even through ink.

“If you are currently reading this while making that ridiculous concentrated expression you always get around books, I want you to know it makes you look profoundly stupid.”

Johnny barked out one weak laugh despite himself.

Yeah.

That sounded exactly like him.

The letter continued.

“I spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding whether or not to write this particular memory down. Not because it shames me exactly. I lost the capacity for shame years ago. But because this story reveals something deeply unfortunate about both of us.”

Johnny frowned faintly while reading slower now.

Outside, wind rattled softly against the cabin windows.

“You remember how often George Joestar used to lock you inside your room after Nicholas died?

Of course you do.

You always pretended it didn’t bother you afterward, but children are poor liars, Johnny. Especially lonely children.”

Johnny’s chest tightened slightly.

God.

Already he could picture it.

The mansion hallways.

The silence after Nicholas died.

George drinking downstairs while pretending Johnny barely existed.

“You stopped sleeping properly for a while after the funeral,” Diego wrote. “You used to wander the halls half-awake at night because you hated being alone in your room. Sometimes you’d sit beside the staircase until morning pretending you merely couldn’t sleep rather than admitting you were frightened.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.

He remembered that.

Not fully.

Fragments only.

Cold wooden floors beneath his feet. Thunder outside giant mansion windows. Nicholas gone forever while George barely looked at him anymore afterward.

The letter continued softer now.

“One night I found you asleep in the stables.”

Johnny blinked slightly.

What?

“You had dragged half your blankets downstairs because apparently that seemed logical to your tiny exhausted brain at the time. It was raining horribly outside. I remember because you kept twitching in your sleep every time thunder shook the walls.”

Johnny’s fingers tightened slightly around the paper now.

“You couldn’t have been older than ten.

Possibly younger.

And despite how irritating you already were, you looked so painfully miserable lying there that I made the catastrophic mistake of feeling sorry for you.”

Johnny could practically hear Diego sneering at himself through the sentence.

“I sat beside you for a while because I had nowhere else to go either.

You always slept strangely lightly back then. Like some part of you expected to wake up abandoned again if you relaxed too much.”

Johnny stared silently at the page.

The cabin suddenly felt smaller somehow.

More distant.

Then came the next lines.

“I remember staring at you for an embarrassingly long time that night.

Your hair had fallen into your face.

You kept mumbling things in your sleep I couldn’t fully understand.

At one point you grabbed my sleeve without waking up properly.”

Johnny’s breath slowed unevenly.

“And for reasons I still cannot explain without sounding pathetic, I kissed you.”

The sentence sat there quietly beneath afternoon light.

Simple.

Direct.

Completely Diego somehow.

Johnny’s pulse stumbled painfully once against his ribs.

The letter continued immediately afterward.

“You didn’t wake up.

Thank Christ for that.

I would likely have thrown myself into the river from humiliation.”

Johnny actually covered part of his mouth briefly with one hand after reading that.

Goddamn him.

“I only meant to do it once.

A quick stupid thing nobody would ever know about.

Then you frowned in your sleep afterward and moved closer against my shoulder like some half-frozen animal seeking warmth.”

Johnny could barely breathe properly now.

“And I kissed you again.

Longer this time.”

Silence filled the cabin around him.

Outside, wind moved softly through distant trees.

Johnny stared motionless at the page while his heartbeat thudded unevenly beneath his ribs.

“You trusted me when you were asleep in ways you never allowed while awake.

That was probably the first moment I realized I was in serious trouble.”

Johnny swallowed hard.

The next lines looked rougher somehow, as if Diego pressed the pen too hard into the paper while writing them.

“I think part of me loved you long before I understood what love actually was.

Before the race.

Before the hatred.

Before we spent years pretending rivalry explained everything poisoning the space between us.”

Johnny’s eyes burned suddenly.

Christ.

“You looked peaceful sleeping there beside me in the storm.

I remember thinking nobody had probably looked after you properly in months.

Possibly years.

And I hated how badly I wanted to become someone you relied on.”

Johnny lowered the paper slightly afterward while staring blankly toward the cabin wall ahead.

God.

He could almost see it now.

Small Johnny asleep beneath blankets inside the stables while rain hammered outside.

Diego sitting beside him alone in the dark.

Young enough that neither of them understood what they were becoming yet.

The final lines waited near the bottom of the page.

“I wonder sometimes whether things would have changed if you’d woken up while I was kissing you.

Would you have hated me immediately?

Or would you simply have looked at me with that confused stubborn expression you always wear whenever somebody cares about you too openly?”

Johnny laughed weakly through the painful tightness suddenly building in his chest.

Then came the final sentence.

“Either way, I suspect I would have kissed you a third time.”

Johnny lowered the letter slowly into his lap and just sat there for a long time without moving.

The cabin had gone quiet again sometime during the letter, the kind of deep lonely silence that only made every thought inside his head louder. Weak evening light stretched across the floorboards now, pale gold slipping slowly toward orange while shadows gathered softly near the corners of the room. Outside, wind moved through the trees in slow uneven waves, branches scraping faintly against the windows every few minutes. Johnny barely noticed any of it.

All he could think about was young Diego sitting beside him in the stables while rain hammered outside.

Kissing him while he slept.

God.

Johnny pressed one hand slowly against his mouth while staring unfocused toward the opposite wall. The image felt impossible and painfully easy to believe at the same time. Because now that the memories were returning properly, now that Diego’s letters kept tearing open all the locked places inside his head one by one, Johnny could suddenly see it so clearly.

Diego lingering near him too long as children.

Diego watching him when he thought Johnny wouldn’t notice.

The strange tension that always existed between them even before hatred sharpened everything into something crueler.

Maybe it had never really been hatred at all.

Or not only hatred.

Johnny leaned back slowly in the chair while the paper trembled faintly between his fingers.

“You idiot…” he murmured quietly toward the empty room.

The words came out softer than intended.

Because God, Diego really carried this alone their entire lives, didn’t he?

Even during the race.

Even while threatening him.

Even while choking him bloody in the mud and fighting him over the Corpse and pretending rivalry explained every horrible thing growing between them.

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.

And suddenly another memory surfaced.

Not fully.

Just fragments.

Him and Diego sitting behind the stables sometime after Nicholas died, both filthy from fighting again. Diego throwing little rocks into the river while Johnny complained bitterly about George. The sun setting orange across the fields while both of them sat there pretending they didn’t enjoy each other’s company.

And Diego saying quietly:

“We should leave someday.”

Johnny’s chest tightened sharply.

God.

He remembered that now.

Not clearly.

But enough.

Small stupid conversations whispered between arguments and insults over the years.

Running away.

Leaving the mansion behind.

Crossing the country.

Buying horses.

Living somewhere George Joestar couldn’t touch them anymore.

Johnny laughed weakly beneath his breath, though the sound hurt strangely in his chest afterward.

They were children.

Just lonely angry children dreaming about escape because neither of them knew how to survive where they already were.

Still…

Johnny stared slowly back down toward Diego’s letter.

What if they actually had done it?

The thought arrived quietly.

Dangerously.

What if one night they really had stolen money from the mansion and disappeared together before everything became ruined beyond repair?

Before Nicholas died.

Before George completely broke apart.

Before the race.

Before Funny Valentine.

Before Diego learned how to bury every human feeling beneath cruelty sharp enough to wound first before anybody else could hurt him.

Johnny swallowed hard.

Maybe Diego would still be alive.

The realization hit him brutally enough that he physically flinched.

Because suddenly he could picture it too clearly.

A tiny house somewhere far away from England.

Horses outside.

Diego complaining constantly while fixing fences or cheating people at card games in town.

Johnny laughing at him from a porch somewhere while sunlight hit his face instead of blood and rain and gunpowder.

No Steel Ball Run.

No Corpse.

No Valentine.

No train compartments full of violence and fear.

Just them.

Growing older together somewhere quiet enough that maybe Diego never learned how to turn himself into a weapon.

Johnny rubbed tiredly at his eyes suddenly.

Christ.

The worst part was realizing Diego had imagined it too.

That fifth letter.

The house.

The children.

The life they could’ve built if they escaped early enough.

At the time Johnny thought it sounded impossible.

Now it just sounded tragic.

Because maybe they really could have done it.

Maybe there was still a version of the world somewhere where Diego Brando survived.

A version where he never had to become cruel just to stay alive.

A version where Johnny learned how to love him before death stole the chance away completely.

The cabin suddenly felt suffocatingly small around him.

Johnny stood abruptly from the chair and crossed slowly toward the window while still holding the letter in one hand. Outside, evening had deepened fully now. Trees swayed softly beneath darkening skies while distant fields stretched endlessly beyond the cabin.

Empty.

Quiet.

Alive in ways Diego no longer was.

Johnny leaned one hand against the window frame while grief settled heavily into his chest again.

“Maybe we should’ve done it,” he whispered softly.

The words fogged faintly against the cold glass.

“We talked about it enough…”

His throat tightened painfully afterward.

Because they really had.

God, they really had.

He remembered Diego mocking England constantly as children. Mocking George. Mocking rich people and rules and every miserable thing trapping both of them inside that mansion.

And Johnny remembered wanting to go with him.

Even back then.

Even when they fought every other day.

There was always something strangely inevitable about Diego.

Like Johnny’s life kept circling back toward him no matter how hard both of them tried pretending otherwise.

Johnny lowered his head slightly against the window.

“You’d still be here,” he murmured quietly.

No answer came except wind moving softly outside.

And somehow that silence hurt worse than anything else tonight.

Christ.

How long had Diego loved him?

Really loved him.

Not the ugly violent thing they became during the race. Not rivalry sharpened into obsession. Something older than that. Something buried beneath years of anger and cruelty and survival instinct.

Johnny laughed quietly beneath his breath.

“You really never had a chance, huh?” he murmured softly toward the dark window.

Because maybe Diego had already been doomed from childhood.

Maybe they both were.

Johnny finally pushed himself away from the glass and crossed slowly back toward the table again. The letters waited where he left them beneath dim lantern light, paper edges shifting faintly whenever wind slipped through cracks in the cabin walls. Five remained unopened now.

No.

Four after this one.

Johnny hesitated briefly before pulling another letter free from the pile.

The ninth.

Something about this envelope looked different immediately. Less carefully folded than the others. The paper slightly wrinkled, as though Diego wrote it quickly or angrily before changing his mind several times. Johnny frowned faintly while turning it over once in his hands.

Then slowly opened it.

The first line hit him instantly.

“I think there was a period of time where I genuinely hated you for surviving Nicholas.”

Johnny’s breath caught slightly.

God.

That sounded painfully honest already.

The letter continued immediately afterward.

“You probably think that sentence makes me monstrous.

Perhaps it does.

But if I am finally admitting ugly truths before dying, then I might as well admit all of them.”

Johnny leaned back slowly in the chair while lantern light flickered weakly across the paper.

“After Nicholas died, George Joestar looked at you like something broken beyond repair. I remember watching him ignore you at dinner. Ignore you in the hallways. Ignore you while you practically destroyed yourself trying to earn back affection he should have given freely in the first place.

And part of me envied you anyway.

Isn’t that pathetic?”

Johnny swallowed hard.

Because he understood.

Too well.

Diego continued:

“You were miserable. Lonely. Half-starved for attention.

But George still acknowledged your existence.

Meanwhile I was the stable boy sleeping in the dirt outside his mansion pretending his leftovers tasted better than they actually did.”

Johnny’s chest tightened painfully.

God.

Young Diego really had been alone too.

Not differently than Johnny.

Just… harder.

Crueler somehow.

The letter continued slower afterward.

“There were nights I listened to you crying through the walls after George beat you and thought:

At least someone notices when he suffers.

Nobody noticed mine.”

Johnny lowered his eyes briefly.

He could suddenly picture it too clearly.

Small Diego standing alone outside the mansion in the rain.

Hungry.

Cold.

Listening to Johnny crying somewhere inside while George stumbled drunk through the halls afterward.

And still hating him for having more.

Even though Johnny barely had anything left himself.

“I think that was the first time I realized loneliness can make people cruel.

Because eventually I stopped feeling guilty for resenting you.

I started looking for reasons instead.”

Johnny’s fingers tightened slightly around the paper.

“You smiled too loudly around Nicholas.

You rode horses better than me at first.

You still defended George occasionally despite everything.

God, I hated that most of all.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.

Because he remembered that too.

Trying desperately to defend George even after the beatings because some stupid part of him still wanted his father to love him again.

The next paragraph looked darker, ink pressed harder into the page.

“Then Nicholas died and everything inside that mansion rotted afterward.

George became a ghost wearing a rich man’s skin.

You became quieter.

And somehow… somehow that made the hatred harder.”

Johnny frowned faintly.

“What I mean,” Diego wrote beneath it, “is that once you stopped pretending to be happy, I began understanding you too much.”

Silence settled heavily inside the cabin around Johnny.

Outside, wind rattled softly against the windows.

“You started wandering the estate at night because you couldn’t sleep.

You stopped eating properly.

Sometimes you sat alone beside the river behind the stables for hours staring into the water like you expected Nicholas to climb back out of it somehow.”

Johnny covered part of his mouth slowly with one hand.

God.

He remembered that.

Fragments only.

Cold evenings beside the river.

Nicholas gone.

George drunk.

The mansion unbearably empty afterward.

“And every time I saw you like that,” Diego continued quietly through ink, “the resentment became mixed with something worse.”

Johnny’s heartbeat slowed unevenly.

“Pity.”

The word sat painfully beneath lantern light.

“I hated pity.

Especially toward you.

Because pity meant I understood exactly how abandoned you felt.

And understanding you became dangerous very quickly.”

Johnny stared silently at the page while his chest tightened harder with every line now.

Diego’s handwriting grew rougher afterward.

“I think there was a moment—sometime during winter after Nicholas died—where I realized I would either spend the rest of my life loving you or destroying myself trying not to.”

God.

Johnny shut his eyes hard.

Christ.

“You looked at me differently than everyone else did.

Even when you hated me.

Even when we fought.

You looked directly at me instead of through me.

Do you understand how intoxicating that becomes for somebody who spent their entire childhood invisible?”

Johnny’s throat tightened painfully.

Because yes.

He did understand.

Too much now.

The letter softened afterward.

“One night we argued so viciously beside the stables that you shoved me into the mud and split my lip open with a rock.

You remember that?”

Johnny blinked slowly.

Actually…

Yeah.

He did.

Faintly.

Rain.

Mud.

Diego laughing at him until Johnny snapped and tackled him into the dirt.

“You climbed on top of me trying to keep hitting me while screaming about George and Nicholas and how everybody kept leaving you.”

Johnny’s chest hurt suddenly.

Not physically this time.

“You looked completely insane.

Covered in mud and crying so hard you could barely breathe.

And for reasons I still cannot fully explain…”

Johnny already knew where this was going somehow.

“I kissed you.”

Johnny physically lowered the letter for a second afterward.

Goddamn him.

Diego continued immediately:

“You punched me directly in the jaw afterward.

Honestly, fair enough.”

Johnny barked out one weak startled laugh despite himself.

“I remember you staring at me afterward like I had lost my mind.

Which, admittedly, I probably had.”

Johnny rubbed tiredly at his face with one hand while continuing to read.

“You asked me why I did it.

And because I was fourteen and profoundly stupid, I told you it was because you looked pathetic while crying.”

Johnny snorted weakly.

Yeah.

That sounded exactly like Diego.

“But afterward,” Diego wrote quieter now, “you stopped yelling.”

The lantern light flickered softly across the page.

“You just stared at me for a long time while rain soaked both of us completely through.

Then finally you whispered:

‘You’re weird as hell, Diego.’”

Johnny laughed again despite the ache building painfully in his chest now.

He could hear himself saying it perfectly.

The letter continued:

“And despite the insult, you didn’t move away from me afterward.

That was the first moment I genuinely thought perhaps there was still hope for us.”

Johnny’s smile faded slowly.

Because there wasn’t.

Not really.

Not in the end.

The final paragraphs looked messier than the others somehow.

Like Diego struggled writing them.

“I wonder sometimes whether we ruined each other by staying.”

Johnny’s eyes slowed over the sentence.

“If we had separated earlier, maybe you would have become someone softer.

Maybe I would have become someone less vicious.

Instead we spent years sharpening each other into weapons.”

Johnny stared silently toward the cabin wall ahead afterward.

God.

That was true too.

Then came the final lines.

“Still…

if I had to choose again between a life untouched by you and a miserable ruined life where you remained beside me the entire time…”

Johnny’s chest tightened violently before he even finished reading.

“I would still choose you.”

Johnny didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep at the table until cold morning light hit his face through the cabin windows.

For a few slow seconds he just sat there half-awake, forehead resting against crossed arms while Diego’s letters remained scattered across the table beneath him like pieces of a life Johnny no longer knew how to survive without. The lantern beside him had burned out sometime during the night. Outside, pale gray morning stretched quietly across the fields surrounding the cabin while wind moved softly through damp grass still silvered with dew.

Johnny lifted his head slowly.

God.

His neck hurt.

His eyes burned.

And Diego’s words still sat heavy inside his chest from the night before.

I would still choose you.

Johnny shut his eyes briefly after remembering that line.

Christ.

Every letter made grieving him worse somehow.

Not easier.

Worse.

Because now Johnny understood too much.

Diego hadn’t written these things for drama or manipulation or one final cruel joke from beyond the grave. He wrote them because he genuinely believed Johnny would never know otherwise. Because Diego Brando spent his entire life burying every vulnerable feeling beneath arrogance sharp enough to cut first before anybody could reach him.

And now all those feelings were sitting open across Johnny’s table in faded ink.

Too late.

Always too late.

Johnny rubbed one tired hand slowly across his face before reaching toward another unopened letter near the edge of the table. This envelope looked flatter than the others somehow. Less worn. The paper crisp beneath his fingers while weak morning light stretched pale across Diego’s handwriting.

The eleventh letter.

Johnny hesitated briefly.

Then opened it.

The very first line immediately made him snort weakly beneath his breath.

“I despised Gyro Zeppeli almost instantly.”

Johnny laughed quietly despite himself.

“Yeah,” he muttered tiredly. “Thought so.”

The letter continued.

“Not because he was incompetent.

Unfortunately the opposite problem existed.

He was loud. Idiotic. Reckless. Absurdly emotional. The sort of man who somehow walks through life making enemies and friends with equal ease.”

Johnny could practically hear Diego’s annoyance bleeding through the ink itself.

“And worst of all…”

Johnny already knew.

“He made you laugh.”

The cabin suddenly felt quieter.

Johnny’s smile faded slowly while reading further.

“I remember hearing it properly for the first time during the race.

A real laugh.

Not the bitter sarcastic noise you usually make when mocking somebody.

An actual laugh.”

Johnny swallowed hard.

God.

“I genuinely think part of me wanted to shoot him immediately afterward.”

Johnny barked out another startled laugh despite the ache building quietly in his chest now.

“That sounds about right too.”

The letter continued sharper afterward.

“You trusted him so naturally that it infuriated me.

You looked at him the way starving people look at warmth.”

Johnny lowered his eyes slightly toward the paper.

Because maybe Diego wasn’t wrong.

Gyro had become warmth somehow.

In the middle of all that violence and blood and death during the race, Gyro gave Johnny something dangerously close to hope again.

The letter continued slower now.

“I spent years trying to pull reactions out of you.

Anger mostly.

Occasionally hatred.

Sometimes fascination when your ego allowed it.

Meanwhile Gyro Zeppeli merely smiled at you and suddenly you looked alive again.”

Johnny’s throat tightened painfully.

Outside, wind brushed softly against the cabin walls.

“I hated him for that.

Not because he made you happy.

Because I could not.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.

Christ.

The next lines looked rougher somehow.

“I remember watching both of you beside a campfire one night after one of the race stages.

You were exhausted. Bleeding. Barely conscious honestly.

And still somehow laughing at one of his terrible jokes.”

Johnny could picture it immediately.

Gyro grinning smugly while Johnny tried unsuccessfully not to laugh at something incredibly stupid.

The race stretching endlessly around them beneath desert stars.

God.

He missed him too.

Diego continued:

“You looked younger around him.

Less haunted.”

Johnny’s fingers tightened slowly around the letter.

“And I realized with profound irritation that Gyro gave you something I never managed to.”

The cabin fell silent except for weak wind outside.

“Safety.”

Johnny physically looked away from the page for a second after reading that.

Because somehow that hurt more than jealousy would have.

Diego understood exactly what he lacked.

Exactly why Johnny kept returning to Gyro during the race instead of him.

“I think you trusted him because he never demanded anything from you emotionally,” Diego wrote quietly. “He simply stood beside you and waited.”

Johnny’s chest tightened harder now.

God.

That was true too.

Gyro never forced Johnny to become vulnerable.

Never cornered him emotionally.

He just… stayed.

The letter continued:

“You always looked exhausted around me.

Like speaking to me required preparing for battle first.”

Johnny laughed weakly beneath his breath.

“Well,” he murmured softly toward the empty cabin, “yeah.”

“I hated that too.”

The next sentence looked shakier than the others somehow.

“Because despite everything between us, despite every cruel thing we ever said to each other, I still wanted to become somewhere safe for you eventually.”

Johnny pressed one hand slowly against his mouth.

Christ.

Diego really loved him in the saddest possible way.

Violently.

Desperately.

Like someone who learned too young that affection and survival were the same thing.

“I envied Gyro more than I ever envied George Joestar.”

Johnny blinked hard.

What?

The letter continued immediately:

“George had your childhood.

Gyro had your trust.

And strangely enough, I think the second thing wounded me more.”

Johnny stared silently down at the page.

Because maybe Diego was right again.

Johnny trusted Gyro instinctively by the end of the race in ways he never fully trusted Diego.

Even when Diego protected him.

Even when Diego stayed.

Even when Diego looked at him like he was the only thing left in the world worth chasing.

“I remember one specific night particularly well,” Diego wrote slower now.

“You and Gyro were arguing over something idiotic beside the river after camp was set.

I couldn’t even hear the conversation properly from where I stood.

Then suddenly you laughed so hard you nearly fell sideways into the water.”

Johnny physically smiled despite the burning pressure suddenly building behind his eyes.

God.

Gyro really used to make him laugh like that.

“You looked happy.

Completely happy.

And for one horrifying moment I genuinely understood why people kill out of jealousy.”

Johnny snorted weakly.

“Jesus Christ, Diego.”

“But then something deeply unfortunate happened.”

Johnny already knew this was going somewhere unbearable.

“I realized part of me felt relieved too.”

The cabin grew very still around him.

“Because despite how much I envied him, despite how badly I wanted your attention turned toward me instead…”

Johnny’s chest hurt now.

“…you were finally no longer alone.”

Silence followed the sentence afterward.

Heavy.

Painfully soft.

Johnny stared down at the page while morning light crept slowly farther across the table.

“You spent so much of your life lonely that seeing somebody pull genuine joy out of you felt almost unreal.”

God.

Johnny shut his eyes tightly.

The letter continued gentler than before.

“I used to wonder sometimes what would have happened if we met later in life instead.

After the damage.

After the loneliness shaped both of us into crueler versions of ourselves.”

Johnny’s breathing slowed unevenly.

“Perhaps then I could have made you laugh too.”

The words nearly broke something inside him.

Because Diego sounded so honest there.

Not jealous anymore.

Not bitter.

Just sad.

“I think that was what frightened me most about Gyro.

Not that you loved him.

That he showed me a version of you I could never fully reach.”

Johnny lowered the letter slightly afterward while staring unfocused toward the cabin wall ahead.

God.

He remembered it too now.

Diego watching him and Gyro sometimes during the race with that unreadable expression.

Cold on the surface.

But quieter than usual somehow.

Like part of him stood outside something he desperately wanted to enter but didn’t know how.

The final lines waited near the bottom of the page.

“I wish you had looked at me that easily once.”

Johnny’s throat tightened painfully.

Then the very last sentence:

“I wish I knew how to make you smile without first hurting you.”

Johnny sat motionless for a long time after finishing the letter.

Morning light had fully filled the cabin now, pale gold stretching across the floorboards and the scattered pages spread around him like pieces of a life he no longer knew how to hold together properly. Outside, the wind had softened. Trees moved gently beneath weak sunlight while somewhere far off a horse snorted quietly near the fence line. The world looked painfully normal.

Too normal.

As if Diego Brando had not died.

As if Gyro Zeppeli had not bled out in Johnny’s arms beneath the cold sky of another country years ago.

Johnny lowered the letter slowly into his lap and leaned back in the chair while staring blankly toward the ceiling overhead.

God.

Diego really understood him too well.

That was the cruelest part.

Every letter kept peeling him apart piece by piece until Johnny barely recognized himself anymore beneath all the memories returning. Because Diego had seen things Johnny himself never fully understood until now. The loneliness. The anger. The way Johnny clung desperately to people who made life feel less unbearable for even a little while.

Gyro did that.

God, Gyro did that better than anyone.

Johnny smiled faintly despite the ache already building in his chest again.

He could practically hear him now.

Loud stupid jokes beside campfires.

Terrible singing while riding through empty desert roads.

That ridiculous confidence.

The warmth of him.

Gyro had entered Johnny’s life like sunlight through a cracked door and somehow never stopped pulling him forward afterward. Even when things became bloody. Even when the race turned monstrous. Gyro always kept moving like hope itself could become stubborn enough to survive anything.

And Johnny loved him for that.

Still did.

Always would.

The realization settled quietly inside him while weak wind brushed against the cabin windows outside.

But…

Johnny swallowed slowly.

Then closed his eyes.

Because despite all of that—

Despite how much Gyro made him laugh…

Despite how safe Johnny felt beside him…

Despite how deeply he missed him even now…

There was still another truth sitting ugly and unavoidable beneath everything else.

At the end of it all…

Johnny wished it had been Diego.

The thought hit him hard enough that he physically flinched afterward.

God.

What kind of horrible thing was that to think?

Johnny rubbed one hand tiredly across his face while guilt twisted sharply beneath his ribs. Because Gyro deserved better than that. Gyro had been good to him in ways almost nobody else ever managed. Patient. Loyal. Kind without demanding weakness in return.

And still…

Still when Johnny imagined a life where somebody survived beside him—

It was Diego.

Always Diego.

Johnny laughed weakly beneath his breath.

“You really ruined me, huh?” he murmured softly toward the empty cabin.

Because even now, after death, after violence, after years of hating each other so viciously it practically became another form of intimacy—

Johnny still wanted him.

Christ.

Maybe Diego was right.

Maybe they really had destroyed each other by staying.

But leaving would not have fixed it either.

Johnny knew that now.

Because no matter where life dragged him afterward, part of him always circled back toward Diego eventually. Even during the race. Even while traveling beside Gyro. Johnny remembered it suddenly with painful clarity now—the way his eyes kept searching crowds for flashes of blond hair and cruel blue eyes every time Diego disappeared for too long.

Like his body itself noticed the absence before his mind admitted it.

God.

That sounded pathetic.

Johnny leaned forward slowly, elbows resting against his knees while Diego’s letter remained loose between his fingers.

The cabin felt smaller suddenly.

Too full of ghosts.

Gyro’s laugh still echoed somewhere inside his memories while Diego’s words sat heavy inside his chest at the same time.

You were finally no longer alone.

Johnny shut his eyes tightly.

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely.

Gyro gave him that.

A kind of happiness Johnny genuinely thought impossible before meeting him.

But Diego…

Diego understood him.

That was different.

Worse somehow.

Gyro looked at Johnny and saw somebody worth saving.

Diego looked at Johnny and saw himself.

The loneliness.

The anger.

The desperation buried beneath pride and cruelty and fear.

And maybe that was why Johnny kept returning to him no matter how badly they hurt each other. Because being understood that completely was terrifying.

And addictive.

Johnny breathed slowly through the tightness growing in his throat now.

He remembered the train again suddenly.

Blood.

Rain.

Valentine gone.

And Diego looking at him like the entire world was collapsing while Johnny bled out across the floor.

God.

Nobody had ever looked at him like that before.

Not George.

Not even Gyro.

Because Gyro’s love felt warm.

Steady.

Human.

Diego’s felt catastrophic.

Like something starving finally finding the one thing keeping it alive.

Johnny lowered his head into one hand afterward.

Christ.

He wished Diego survived.

More than anything.

Not because Gyro mattered less.

Never that.

But because Diego never got the chance to become anything except tragic in the end.

Gyro died loved.

Diego died longing.

And somehow that hurt worse.

Johnny stared slowly toward the remaining unopened letters resting across the table nearby.

Two left now.

Only Two.

The realization made panic twist unexpectedly through his chest.

Because once the letters ended…

That was it.

No more hidden truths.

No more Diego voice trapped inside paper and ink.

No more discovering pieces of him Johnny should have understood years ago.

Just silence afterward.

The thought terrified him.

Johnny swallowed hard before whispering quietly into the empty room:

“I think I would’ve chosen you too.”

The confession vanished softly into the cabin air.

No answer came back.

Only wind moving gently through the trees outside while morning sunlight crept slowly across Diego’s final letters waiting patiently on the table.