Chapter Text
4. Visit Keicho’s grave (remember to bring Marigolds this time!)
The first time Jotaro met Josuke, his initial thought was that he looked way too much like Joseph for a kid who had never even met him. His second thought was that he hoped this boy didn't have a mind-reading stand, because that was a bit on the nose.
Jotaro landed up having to punch him anyway.
Many months (and stand user shenanigans) later, he can say that Josuke is alike to Joseph in more ways than looks–quick-witted, cheeky, and seems to attract trouble every second step. He is also the most compassionate person Jotaro has possibly ever met, and if that wasn't shown through his fierce loyalty to his friends and Morioh as whole, it would be from the manifestation of his inner psyche being able to heal even fatal wounds.
Jotaro saw almost none of himself in Josuke except for an impressive amount of stubbornness until very recently, when he learned that Josuke and him happen to have very similar coping mechanisms.
That is to say, self isolation.
It had been 2 days since the phone call that marked the singular time Jotaro had spoken more words than the other person in a conversation, which was truly a feat considering Josuke had been the one to call him. Josuke had rang to ask about Okuyasu’s father (“He’s under the care of an organisation that I am incredibly familiar with; they still owe me for quite a few things.”), and when that was sorted, had simply stated that he wanted to give Okuyasu a grave, but wasn’t sure how to start.
Jotaro had thought about this for a while; how to respond, whether he should answer at all. He’s not sure he should be encouraging the idea of Josuke organising a funeral at 16, but he also knows the extent of the boy's stubbornness, and that he would probably do it with or without Jotaro’s help.
“If you give me his birthday, I’ll sort out the rest,” Jotaro had said. He imagines Josuke nodded before hanging up, but all he heard on the other end was a cut dial tone. Jotaro looked at the phone for a few seconds, put it back on the desk, and rearranged his and Josephs’ flights home to be a few days later than originally planned.
He had received a call back the next morning from a vaguely groggy-sounding Josuke, who had provided Okuyasu’s birthday before hanging up. At least he seemed to be getting some rest. Jotaro remembers countless nights after Egypt spent simply staring at his ceiling, unable to sleep when every little noise made panic crawl up his throat and cover his eyes and grasp his mind and-
Jotaro looks down at the ink dripping off his hand onto the papers below, the remnants of a pen sprayed across the desk. Star Platinum fetches him a new one, and he continues with his work, brushing off the pieces of pen into a trashcan by the table.
According to Koichi, no one from the general group had heard from Josuke since Jotaro’s phone call.
A knock on his hotel door sounds out, and Jotaro slowly gets up, opening the door cautiously. He's not sure exactly who would be knocking without any warning, and Kira was confirmed to be dead, but he still brings out Star Platinum as a precaution.
Jotaro stares down at Josuke, who has a bundle of Marigolds stuffed under his arm and the grave face of someone going to war. He takes a moment to admire that Josuke’s hair is still remarkably groomed for someone who is no doubt not sleeping more than an hour per night, before tipping his head, waiting for Josuke to say why he’s suddenly appeared at the Grand Hotel after complete radio silence from everyone for a week straight.
Josuke stares at Star Platinum in confusion, momentarily loosening his ironclad grip on the flowers, and Jotaro instantly dismisses Platinum. The boy instantly goes back to squinting at Jotaro uneasily. Jotaro doesn't know whether to be offended that Josuke seems less nervous around Platinum than Jotaro himself.
“Can you drive?” Josuke asks–demands, really–and Jotaro prepares for his day to be entirely derailed. Considering all he had planned was staring at his dissertation for 6 hours and citations for another 2, he can’t say he particularly minds.
—
The car ride is awkward, even for Jotaro, who spent almost a year of his life stuffed in various modes of transportation with people all at various stages of regretting every one of their decisions that had led them to this moment–especially when Iggy was in a particularly vile mood.
Josuke is still holding onto the flowers with one hand, staring out the window with the other cupped under his chin. He hasn't acknowledged Jotaro much besides informing him of when he should turn. Jotaro taps the steering wheel in a steady beat almost subconsciously.
"Take a right, and we're there," Josuke interrupts the silence, and Jotaro obliges, pulling into a parking lot.
The first thing Jotaro notices is that Josuke instantly seems on edge the second the car turns off. The second thing is that they are at a graveyard. Jotaro brings a hand to his hat, lightly pulling it a bit further down his face. This kid...
He watches Josuke as the boy seems to collect himself, before quickly opening the door and jumping out the car as if any hesitation would have him diving right back in. Jotaro follows suit more calmly, locking the car once the door is shut.
Josuke had made his way over to Jotaro's side of the car, and was nervously glancing towards the gated entrance to the graveyard.
"You can wait here, if you want," Josuke says with bravado, which is immediately disproven by the way the Marigolds are lightly shivering, revealing the shakiness of his hands.
Truthfully, Jotaro would rather stay in the car. He despises graveyards, though he's sure this is a very common sentiment.
Jotaro follows Josuke into the graveyard.
It's quiet, only a few birds chirping. No one seems to be around. Josuke is scanning the area, and Jotaro belatedly realises he never asked who he's bringing flowers for. Okuyasu didn’t have a grave yet, being stored in the morgue until Jotaro got the council's permission to bury him since the boy had no next of kin.
"Who are you visiting?" Jotaro asks, tone low to match the atmosphere. Josuke pauses in his search to let Jotaro catch up and avoid speaking too loudly.
"Okuyasu's brother," he murmurs back. Jotaro stills, before nodding. He's not exactly sure why Josuke is bringing flowers to his friend's dead brother, but he's also not inclined to ask. "Could you stay here, actually?" Josuke adds after a moment, his tone nervous. At Jotaro's immediate nod, he inches his way further into the cemetery.
Jotaro sighs. He understands Josuke's desire to complete his task alone, but getting left alone in a graveyard isn't exactly pleasant. Jotaro wanders towards the outer edge, leaning on the fence. He idly scans the graves near him. They all seem to be from the late 80s', and he frowns, looking more towards the right to avoid those particular years.
Yet, his eye catches on one particular grave. It does not particularly stick out; it's clean, yet has no offerings on it. Gone too soon. Horribly impersonal for someone's final resting place.
In loving memory of Noriaki Kakyoin, it reads.
Jotaro is sure he accidentally activates Platinum with the way the world freezes in place. He tries to breathe, but something is blocking his throat. He reaches up to his throat, convinced something is constricting his airways. Jotaro gasps in a tiny amount of air when his hand grabs nothing.
He notices that he's shaking, yet he feels nothing except a pinprick of pure dread slowly permeating through his bones. He feels cold, shivers running across his skin like lightning. He falls back slightly against the fence he is leaning on, holding it tightly with the hand that isn't near his throat.
His grip remains tight on the fence behind him, the warmth enough of a shock for him to focus on his surroundings.
Jotaro is in the graveyard. He brought Josuke here to visit Okuyasu's grave. No, that wasn't right; to visit his brothers' grave. Okuyasu was not yet buried. The council was taking its time to give him permission.
(When his body was taken into the local morgue, it was spotless. The authorities have no idea how he died.)
There is a soft breeze trailing against Jotaro's skin. The summer sun has caused the fence against Jotaro's fingers to be warmer than the air itself. Kakyoin's grave is in front of him. The grass is slightly wilted from the lack of rain for the past few days. The sky remains clear, only heightening the heat. Noriaki Kakyoin's grave is in front of him.
Jotaro feels ill.
He thinks back to one of those nights in Egypt, one where Kakyoin and him had been sharing a room once again.
Have you ever been outside Japan, before this? Kakyoin had asked, and he was laying closer than Jotaro had let anyone but his mother get before. Jotaro shifted closer.
No. I've never been outside my hometown, Jotaro had responded. Kakyoin had laughed slightly at this, and made fun of him for being a less experienced traveler than him despite Jotaro being the one who was half European. Jotaro had simply rolled his eyes, and Kakyoin had responded with a soft smile. They were close, close enough that Jotaro could have reached out and grazed his finger against the boy's pinkie; pretended it was accidental. He didn't, because they both would have known. None of Jotaro's actions were ever accidental.
I don't actually come from your hometown, Kakyoin had whispered, and he had grinned slightly as he said it as if it was some special secret just between them. Maybe it was; Jotaro doubted anyone else knew where Kakyoin came from. No one else knew nearly as much about Kakyoin as Jotaro had. Kakyoin had said that, once, and Jotaro–perhaps stupidly; Kakyoin had lived 16 years without knowing Jotaro, and Jotaro had surpassed everyone else in a matter of weeks?–believes him.
I come from a small town. It's super boring, honestly, but maybe one day you can come visit. Jotaro had raised an eyebrow at that, and Kakyoin seemed to backtrack a little with a, Do you not want to?
Jotaro had shaken his head, before pausing, and nodding instead. Kakyoin had huffed out a laugh, understanding what Jotaro had meant like he always did.
What's it called? Jotaro had murmured, and Kakyoin had come a little closer so that Jotaro could hear it when he whispered, it's called-
It's called-
Morioh, Jotaro's mind supplies. Kakyoin had said Morioh.
Your home is the opposite of boring, Kakyoin, Jotaro thinks somewhat numbly. He swallows down acid. This entire time he'd been in Kakyoin's hometown without a clue.
He's not sure how long passes, with his body in Morioh and his mind in Egypt, but he's shaken out of his stupor by footsteps approaching from further in the graveyard.
Josuke pads towards him, Marigolds absent. He seems distant, and his eyes are tinted red. Jotaro shakily pushes himself off the fence, refusing to glance towards the grave. He can't.
"Jotaro? Are you okay?" Josuke asks immediately upon properly registering his presence, which gives Jotaro exactly 0 hopes for looking somewhat put together in the presence of his 16 year old sort-of Uncle. He's immediately disappointed in himself for making a kid who's obviously just been crying ask if he's okay.
Josuke glances down at the grave, contemplative, and Jotaro watches him sift through Jotaro's sudden change in attitude, the dent in the fence behind him, the grave in front, and connect the dots in a matter of seconds.
"You knew someone from Morioh?" He asks, confused. Jotaro feels his eyes drop back to the grave, but he doesn't really register doing so. He's 17 again, watching himself kill the man who has taken so much away from him. He's 18, and knowing that in the end, killing Dio did nothing; he had lost the same amount either way.
"Noriaki Kakyoin," Josuke reads. "Was he your friend?"
Jotaro feels himself nod. The brim of his cap is pulled down over his eyes by his own hand, and yet he doesn't register the touch of fabric to his fingertips.
Josuke tips his head, waits for Jotaro to elaborate. He doesn't. A moment passes, and Josuke turns towards the exit.
"You don't have to talk about it. Not like you're asking me any questions," he says, shrugging as he walks in the direction of the car. "Catch up when you're ready."
Jotaro swallows. Too damn perceptive. He watches Josuke's back until he turns out of view, looks back towards the grave at his feet.
When he had woken up from that hospital so many years ago, he had of course known Kakyoin was dead. He had seen his body, limp and crushed into the structure at the top of the building.
There had never been a funeral. Jotaro had never seen a grave.
He realises, now, that knowing something and seeing absolute confirmation of its existence is entirely different. Jotaro places a hand on the top of the grave, lowering his head slightly.
He wonders how different this week would have been if Kakyoin was still at his side. He wonders who would have survived.
They're pointless what-ifs, useless things to ponder over.
The sun has almost reached its highest point by the time Jotaro slides into the driver's seat. Josuke is fast asleep, his head resting against the glass. His fingers are stained green from the stalks of the flowers he had carried here for Nijimura Keicho.
Jotaro grips the steering wheel. He doesn't enjoy getting involved, but he cares about Josuke; more than he ever thought he would when he first came to this rural town.
He needs to talk to Joseph.
—
5. Get dad to laugh!
Jotaro coming by at around 2pm and offering to babysit Shizuka should have been the first sign that something was about to be sent Joseph’s way. Yet, he is still completely blindsided by Josuke being the one to knock on his door 20 minutes later, hunched over and decidingly ignoring Joseph’s general existence, a frown etched on his face. Joseph smiles in slight amusement at this; he really is quite similar to Jotaro in ways he’s sure both have missed.
He moves aside to allow Josuke access to the room, and the boy shuffles in, claiming a seat on the smaller couch after a moment of deliberation. Joseph sits opposite him, leaning forward onto his cane, and waits. It takes about 3 minutes before Josuke cracks.
“Jotaro told me about Switzerland,” Josuke blurts out, before immediately looking everywhere but the older man. Joseph huffs out a laugh; he’s not surprised Jotaro refrained from discussing his own similar predicament in favour of shoving his grandfather into the hotseat, nor is he surprised Josuke refuses to directly ask his father for advice. Considering Joseph’s… lack of presence in his life thus far, he supposes that’s fair.
Looking back on Switzerland isn’t something Joseph particularly enjoys. But seeing Josuke (3 years younger than he was, and he knows what it’s like to finally meet someone who seems to be on your exact wavelength, just to have them brutally ripped away, but he’s so young) sitting on his couch of his own volition just to get anything that could help…
Joseph thinks back to the days after Caesar’s death–more accurately, weeks after, considering he hadn’t been entirely sentient after losing an arm and breaking at least 9 bones. He remembers getting irrationally angry every time someone attempted to offer condolences, or try to ask him how he felt, and after many years, Joseph can acknowledge that this was because of his own guilt. He understood (understands, really) that if he had been a bit faster, had listened to Caesar instead of jumping into an argument, the boy would have lived. It still makes him nauseous, on particularly bad days where he remembers Switzerland, remembers Egypt, and how he was too slow not once but twice, and while it’s not something Joseph would have wanted to know knee-deep in grief at 19-
“It will never go away,” he states, almost dully. There is no better way to get the message across, when it is so encompassing in its finality; sentencing the boy to a lifetime of looking to your side for a ghost. Josuke swallows, nods. This does not seem to surprise him as much as it had surprised Joseph, 19 and always looking to see Caesar's reaction to his next dumbass idea, 23 and thinking he would absolutely freak at the idea of being a Godfather, 35 and seeing the flowershop employee’s recognition when he goes to pick up new Forget-Me-Nots to replace the wilted ones, 68 and knowing this would be so much easier if Caesar was at his side. Almost 80, hearing what happened on July 16th from Jotaro, and wondering if their bloodline was truly cursed.
“I don’t want it to,” Josuke mutters, eyes trained on his hands, clasped tight in the fabric of his pants. “It’s not- he doesn’t deserve to be moved on from.” Joseph sighs at this, and his grip tightens on his cane. It is not an unfamiliar thought.
His first few weeks of recovery had been taxing more mentally than physically. He could have used Hamon at any point to aid in mending his broken bones, or at least dampen the pain from losing an arm, but he had felt this was a dishonour to Caesar, who never even got the chance to heal. Joseph taking a bit longer than necessary felt like the start of a worthy punishment for living when Caesar did not, all because Joseph prioritised his ego over his friend.
(His hamon was the only thing Joseph had left of Caesar after he had foolishly lost the ring when fighting Wamuu. Using it meant permanently banishing Caesar from this world. Hamon was life energy; surely, if he holds onto it, at least a part of Caesar is still alive.)
Maybe it is not his place to say this. Maybe he is entirely wrong on why Josuke is going around, fulfilling a bucket list filled with menial tasks, attempting to plan Okuyasu’s funeral, and even coming to Joseph when he knows Josuke would rather eat a shoe with the impending awkwardness that always overshadows any shared moments.
Joseph knows for a fact that if someone told him this at 19, he would have told them to go fuck themselves.
He also knows that it’s something he still wishes someone would tell him today.
“Okuyasu dying is not your fault,” he says, and watches Josuke’s face change from nervous to affronted. He meets Joseph's eyes, scowling. It’s the most energy he’s seen Josuke have since he stepped foot in the room, and is not surprised to see it peter out a second later to be replaced by doubt.
“I know that,” he snaps, tapping an erratic pattern into the couch cushion. “I couldn’t have done anything more than what I did.”
“That’s true.”
“I mean, I managed to heal him, and even though Hayato told me to quit it, I dragged him with me so that Kira didn’t finish him off,” Josuke insists, biting his lip, and Joseph nods.
“You did.”
“And I kept his body safe for when he woke- if he woke up,” he says, voice shaking. Joseph waits patiently for him to continue, and Josuke seems to deflate slightly when he sees that Joseph has no inclination to speak up. They both sit in silence for a few seconds. Josuke continues fidgeting with whatever he can find; Joseph sees a loose thread coming from the corner of the couch be picked apart, fixed, picked apart again. This pattern repeats 3 more times, before Josuke covers his eyes with one hand. “So why do I still feel so guilty?"
Joseph only shakes his head. He still asks himself that question; perhaps it's simply a Joestar curse, to mourn your other half.
"I visited his brother's grave earlier, with Jotaro. It was a part of this list thing I found in his room," Josuke confesses after a moment. "Things to do during summer, or something. I did a bunch of them, thought it might help- actually, it doesn't matter why I did it. Point is, after everything his brother did, he still loves him enough to visit his grave," Josuke bites out. "I saw first-hand some of the shit Keicho did and said to Okuyasu, and that was in 10 minutes. Okuyasu lived through 12 years of that before they moved to Morioh. And he still loved him. Still brought him fresh flowers every week, talked about him as if he were the best brother ever. Maybe he did resent Keicho for what he did, at least a bit. But he understood. He saw what Keicho was going through, he knew why his brother acted like he did, and he loved him despite it.
"It's not fair that someone who can forgive their family so easily, can be immediate friends with someone who literally beat them up the day beforehand, was killed like- like nothing," Josuke slams a hand on the couch cushion next to him, and he bites his lip to stifle another sob. "It's just not fair."
Life isn't fair, Joseph thinks, and does not say. "What will you do?" He asks instead.
"What?"
"Well, I asked what you are going to do, but it's sort of a mean question," Joseph says, before laughing. Josuke scowls, obviously indignant at the question, and Joseph quickly continues before the boy can interrupt. "There's only one answer, after all. You just have to live."
—
“I want to go to Morioh.”
Keicho stares for a moment, before glancing down at the wide array of the town below them. It’s quiet, now. Kira is laying down in a pool of blood, an ambulance crushing his head. Okuyasu feels strangely vindicated, and wonders if that finally solidifies him as a bad person. Josuke has managed to stand up, and both the brothers watch as he limps into the house, standing over Okuyasu.
Josuke leans down. He puts his head on Okuyasu’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat one last time, and far, far, above, the younger brother’s hand comes to rest on the same spot.
“I want to go, but it’s not possible, right?” He asks Keicho. The older boy looks melancholic as he shakes his head. Okuyasu swallows.
He has so many things on his bucket list, and even more planned in his head. He wants to finish that one video game Josuke had recommended months ago. He wants to prove his teachers wrong like Josuke is always encouraging him to do and graduate high school with ease–or at least scrape past. He wants to say his feelings out loud at least once, even if they were badly received. He wants-
He wanted Josuke.
But the brother he’s never seen so relaxed in 12 years is in front of him, and he somehow knows that when he follows, mom would be too.
Okuyasu doesn’t think he could ever be satisfied with all he’s left unfinished. How is he meant to move on, when everything he wants is down in Morioh?
Josuke hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor, and instead has fully embraced Okuyasu. His entire body is heaving, eyes wide. He looks more shocked than anything.
Okuyasu swallows. He doesn’t want to leave him.
He wants to go back. He needs to go back to Morioh. He whips around to Keicho.
His brother holds out a hand, palm up. It was a long-written rule that there was no bringing back the dead.
—
"...Live?" Josuke asks quietly.
"You're going to mourn him for the rest of your life," Joseph says, a melancholic smile taking over his face. "In the end, all we can do for the dead is live a good enough life for the both of us."
—
Okuyasu stares at his brother's hand. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to leave them all behind. He doesn’t want to die.
—
"Death is not absolute until we forget," Joseph claims, watching Josuke turn this over in his head for a few moments, before looking up to meet Joseph's eyes. He looks more cautious than anything else, most likely weighing the sincerity of his father’s words. After a few moments, he exhales, and sits up a bit straighter.
"I won't forget," Josuke says, newfound determination shaky but visible. At Joseph's approving smile, he inhales shakily, a terse nod directed towards Joseph before he speedwalks to the door. He opens it slightly before glancing back. Joseph takes a hand off his cane to give a wave, and Josuke looks away, sliding out the opening and quickly closing the door in his wake.
Joseph wonders if the silence when particularly emotional was somehow magically transferred from Josuke to Jotaro, and chuckles at the thought. He's confident that Caeser would have found them fascinating.
—
"How do I know they'll be okay when I'm not there?" Okuyasu asks, pleading eyes placed on Keicho. His brother always has answers.
And, indeed, his brother only tips his head and questions, "Are they truly so weakwilled?"
Okuyasu blinks in shock. He hadn't meant it like that. Josuke is strong, stronger than anyone he’d ever met; maybe even stronger than Keicho. After a second, he snickers a bit at himself. Of course he'd be alright; they’d all be. It’s all he can do to hope this holds true.
He takes his brothers hand, watches Morioh turn into just a blip as they ascend, further and further and further and-
—
Him and Koichi visit his grave weekly, no matter how busy either of them are. They always make time to bring different sets of flowers–Okuyasu had always emphasised that he found them all pretty, and Josuke assumes he still likes the variety. Sometimes they see Tonio there, or at least evidence of his presence from an empty plate of food placed neatly at the bottom of the tombstone.
It hasn’t gotten easier. Josuke will still think of Okuyasu first when there’s a group project; walk a longer route to avoid the ice-cream shop they used to frequent; think back to Joseph’s words–live for the both of us–and grow anxious on if this is what he’d meant. Yet, he gets through summer break, makes an effort at normalcy by hanging out with Koichi and Yukako, pretends to not notice Koichi’s breath hitching whenever he looks to Josuke’s side just to see empty space.
It’s all he can do to hope this is enough.