Chapter Text
Noriaki Kakyoin raised his fingers tentatively to the wound on his forehead, experimentally dabbing at the blood dripping down his face. His head buzzed as thoughts he had been unable to fully formulate for months threatened to burst forth, filling his head with nauseating static. The wound itself hurt, too – that was to be expected, it was a hole drilled into his brain – but the pain was the least of his worries.
Why? Why would he risk his life to save someone like me?
Jotaro had already given him an answer, but in his current state he couldn’t begin to comprehend the words, never mind the logic behind them. Kakyoin let out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache away. His head was a mess, and it would be a while before he was back to his old self; but he was alive, and that was more than he’d expected.
His whirling thoughts were interrupted by a light touch on his shoulder. Kakyoin reflexively flinched away at the contact, momentarily flashing back to his fateful encounter in Egypt. His eyes darted upwards towards the figure standing over him, but the kind face smiling gently down at him somehow settled his heartbeat immediately. The woman’s features were round, and lightly wrinkled. She had already withdrawn her hand at Kakyoin’s reaction and he gave an apologetic look, ashamed of his behavior. The woman smiled kindly and spoke.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly, kneeling beside him and opening what appeared to be a first aid kit. “I’m just going to patch up your wounds, okay?”
Unable to form sentences yet, he simply nodded in gratitude and shifted into a position where she could better reach his head. The woman removed a ball of cotton from the kit and began to dab lightly around the bloodied area, humming as she worked, which was a welcome distraction from his inner turmoil.
In the corner of the room, two older, foreign-looking men he’d never seen before were talking in hushed tones, occasionally stealing glances at him. He was curious to hear what they were talking about with such grave expressions, but the dull throbbing in his forehead made it hard to focus.
He dragged his gaze away and instead stared at the floor in front of him, willing the fog in his head to clear. The events of the day were oddly hazy. In fact, everything that had happened to him for the last three months felt like a blur. He remembered going to Egypt with his parents, but after that things became more unclear, like they were submerged in murky water.
How is that possible? What have I been doing all this time?
It was as though his mind had been operating without his input, like all of his decision-making had been on autopilot. It was a frightening thought, and the more he struggled to comprehend this fact the more strongly his head pounded. Now that he was putting this much energy into recalling what exactly had happened to him, things were slowly starting to come back, but in a strange way. They felt so unlike his own memories; they were so... impersonal. He remembered the events, sensations, the facts of what happened, but any emotions or thoughts he'd had at the time were coming up blank.
Have I really not been myself for this long?
“There, all done!” The woman sat back, having finished fixing the bandage around his head.
Kakyoin resisted the urge to adjust it to better accommodate his hair. “Thank you… very much.” Considering that he’d been attempting to kill her son just an hour or two earlier, he felt a little awkward accepting her kindness.
“Kakyoin, wasn’t it?” That was her again. “It’s probably best that you rest a little while. Why don’t you stay over tonight?” Before he could do little more than stammer, she ploughed on. “Papa, please get his futon ready.”
At this, the older man on the other end of the room made an indignant outburst, but it sounded like he was speaking in another language. English, most likely. Kakyoin had paid enough attention in class to understand and speak it well enough, but with his mind in such a disorganized state he only registered a handful of words. He concentrated, trying to piece together what he’d heard, but all he managed to process was that the woman’s name was Holly. Or Seiko. He couldn’t quite figure out which.
Just as his mind was caught up in stringing words and meanings together, Holly (or was it Seiko?) switched back to Japanese as she addressed Kakyoin, catching him completely off guard. “Does it hurt at all, Kakyoin?”
“N-no. I’m alright.”
How alarming. What was more unsettling was that everyone in the room seemed to be following the conversation with relative ease, even, much to his surprise, Kujo Jotaro, who was standing a little away from the group with the same impassive look on his face as ever.
The whole situation, frankly, was a bit overwhelming. The older man was still shouting while Holly resolvedly ignored him and continued to speak over him. The second man, a dark-skinned individual who had not yet spoken but still somehow managed to have a strong presence, watched the events unfold with a kind of resigned look, as though this was a regular occurrence.
Back by the room’s entrance, Jotaro muttered something he didn’t catch and promptly excused himself. Kakyoin would have liked to have done the same, had he enough confidence in his current motor functions to stand. All the shouting was not helping his headache in the slightest, and he was uncomfortably aware of how out of place he was amongst these people. It wasn’t difficult to guess their identities from the descriptions he’d been given by Dio, but being in their presence was something else entirely.
Holly spoke up. “All right, Kakyoin, take off your uniform.”
…Ah.
He must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, because Holly gave a little laugh and added, “Come on, now. Weren’t you injured when you came in?”
Suddenly he was grateful for the commotion taking place in the room, as it drew attention away from the red tinge that was surely forming on his cheeks. There was a reason he preferred to keep his school uniform on, even sometimes past school hours. “W-well,” he began hesitantly, “I’d rather keep it on. I’m quite drained after everything, so…” His mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse. “I really should be getting to bed immediately. I’ll be fine,” he finished weakly. He knew fully well how shaky it sounded, but couldn’t think of anything better on the spot.
Thankfully, Holly didn’t press him and just gave an understanding nod. She turned back to her father and said something else in English that was too fast to pick up, but a few moments later they were all busied with preparing a futon for Kakyoin to sleep in. He did offer to help several times, but Holly adamantly refused, insisting he stay right where he was, for which he was once again very grateful. The offer was mostly out of politeness and guilt; after all, he doubted he’d do much more than get in everyone’s way while he was still recovering.
It was quick work between the two of them, and in almost no time at all, everything was set up neatly in a guest room, with some basic medical supplies and a glass of water to boot. Holly briefly gave him directions to the bathroom and made him promise to call her if he needed anything, then bid him goodnight and slid the door shut.
In stark contrast to the events of the day, the guest room felt oddly quiet. Kakyoin took this time to properly put together everything in his head. It seemed that, in an odd twist of fate, Kujo Jotaro, the student he had been trying to kill, had saved his life. If not for him, Kakyoin would still be a slave to Dio, mindlessly carrying out his will until his brain was fully consumed. The thought repulsed him more than he cared to admit.
Disgusting. I’d have been better off facing my death in Egypt than living like that.
Against his better judgement, Kakyoin lifted the bandage on his head slightly and felt for the wound. It still stung at his touch, but the hole was needle-thin and a scab was already forming over it. The sudden removal of the flesh bud had left him dazed and disorientated, but he knew instinctively that no major damage had been done. With a day or so of adjusting, he should be fully recovered.
Now to check his other injuries. He glanced at the screen door warily, as if it would slide open at any moment, although his good sense told him he wouldn’t be disturbed. Kakyoin sighed at his own paranoia, then unbuttoned his school jacket and lifted his undershirt carefully over his shoulders.
Although until now he had been able to hide it well, he was in more pain than he’d let on. Jotaro was a fierce fighter, and their earlier battle had left his torso heavily bruised from the barrage of punches. The skin below his shirt was already bright red, and within a day or two it would surely turn an ugly dark purple. In places his skin was broken and crusted with dried blood; most likely from shrapnel.
Kakyoin considered his options. Part of the reason he’d left his uniform on was to spare the others from the sight of his injuries, so asking Holly for a cold compress was out of the question. He briefly thought about sending Hierophant Green out to look for one but decided against it. He’d caused these people enough trouble already, and he wasn’t keen on finding out what the others’ reaction might be to seeing his stand roaming the house while he was supposed to be asleep.
Kakyoin poured a little water over one of the clean cloths Holly had left him and carefully wiped away the blood. Nothing seemed to be stuck in any of the cuts, which was a relief. He wasn’t a medical expert, nor was he used to getting into fights, but it looked to him as though he’d come off fairly well. The bruises would probably give him grief for a few days, but despite the amount of blood on his undershirt, most of the cuts were fairly shallow. With luck, they probably wouldn’t even scar.
More than anything, he was thankful that he’d had the foresight to not wear his binder today. It was bad enough to exercise in, but taking numerous chest blows while already under compression… frankly, he didn’t fancy his ribs’ chances. No, today it was just a sports bra, and it would probably stay that way for a while, for the sake of his bruises.
Using a second cloth to wipe away the last traces of moisture, Kakyoin let out a deep sigh and flopped back onto the futon, thinking about the day ahead of him tomorrow. No doubt his parents would be wondering where he was, and why he hadn’t come home yet. The mere thought of going home made his stomach churn. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his parents, but he could hardly bear to imagine facing them after all he’d put them through.
I’m probably overthinking again.
The truth was, there was a lot to think about. With the removal of the flesh bud, it was as though every thought and emotion he’d had over the last few months was suddenly spilling forth. What once was mindless obedience had become a whirlwind of concerns and problems that he’d somehow been unable to acknowledge. He supposed internalizing it wouldn’t do wonders for his mental health. Maybe it would be a good thing to deal with up front rather than letting it fester.
At the best of times he’d never been particularly open, but with the influence of Dio’s flesh bud he’d become even more withdrawn, resulting in him barely speaking a word to his own family for almost three months. That probably did nothing for their already rapidly deteriorating relationship. Neither of his parents had been particularly happy when he came out to them as a child, and it felt as though they had slowly continued to drift apart ever since.
Sometimes he felt like a complete stranger in his own home, and while neither of them really disliked each other, he didn’t have the faintest idea of how to talk to them anymore. The truth was that he had no idea what to do to make things feel normal again, so it was easier to just ignore the situation and act like it wasn’t happening.
A pit formed in his stomach as it occurred to him that he might now be more isolated than he ever had been before. He’d never had any real friends, and after this latest escapade, he might be facing expulsion. If it was hard to face his parents before, explaining the latest string of events would surely be impossible. On principle, Kakyoin tried not to think or behave irrationally, but he couldn’t help but feel that his life prospects were becoming increasingly bleak.
The problem with Kakyoin never was that people didn’t like him; it was just that they could instinctively tell that he had no interest in making friends. His speech was always polite, but it held no warmth, like he was always keeping people at arm’s length. Of course, he’d told himself time and time again that he didn’t need to make friends with people that wouldn’t understand him, and some days he even believed it.
Hierophant Green was mostly the reason. There was an incredible sense of isolation that came with being a born stand user, and living with the knowledge that there might be no one else in the world like him. He’d thought for years that it was all in his head, or that he was making it up to fill some void in his life, or that there was something horribly wrong with him. It wasn’t until he’d met Dio in Egypt that he’d known about other stand users, and while it terrified and humiliated him to think back to that moment, he couldn’t deny that he’d also felt a kind of sickening euphoria. For the first time in his life, he’d felt something in common with another person. He wasn’t alone.
But Dio had used him. Kakyoin had often fantasized about meeting someone with an ability like his – a stand user, he supposed he should call them – but he had never imagined that they could be so terrifying. A slight shiver wracked his body as he remembered. The man’s cold eyes still haunted his dreams at night, piercing into his mind and reigniting a sense of dread. His mere presence had awoken a fierce, primal terror inside him, rendering him unable to move or breathe. He didn’t even think of using his stand to fight, knowing from the first moment that he’d seen him that victory was impossible.
Even so, Kakyoin couldn’t help but feel deeply disgusted at himself for submitting so easily. In the moment all he’d thought of was survival, but he knew that his actions had been incredibly cowardly. It was pathetic, really, how one moment of weakness had led to all this.
As he rolled onto his side, the movement was accompanied by a twinge of pain in his abdomen, reminding him of his injuries and the reality of the situation.
Ouch. I think my intestines are bruised.
He almost chuckled at the thought of what a bizarre situation he’d been flung into. As if his life could be any stranger.
There was a lot more he still wanted to unpack, but while he knew it was important to be direct with his problems, there was a line between acknowledging the situation for what it was and dwelling too hard on his own shortcomings. It was difficult to admit, but he’d done enough for today. Whatever else there was to deal with, he’d think about it tomorrow, in the light of day. Kakyoin allowed the exhaustion he’d been fighting off to wash over him and closed his eyes. Before sleep claimed him entirely, one last ridiculous, over-tired thought floated to the surface.
Jotaro sure knows how to throw a punch. I wonder if it’s petty to hope that his organs are still bleeding.