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Consciousness pounded into his head, and though his body fought to keep him under, Josuke grudgingly awoke to the sound of worn metal scraping against more worn metal. A pause, mumbled words, silence. Minutes or seconds pass- he’s not counting- and the scraping continued. Must be the balcony door, he thought before shutting his eyes again and letting the humid air wash over him.
Sleep, however, did not return. Exhausted as he was, the encounter with the local serial killer bore heavy on his mind. Images of his friend and nephew’s injured bodies seared inside his eyelids, and the disquiet of the killer so effortlessly blending back into society sank its claws deep into his chest. His mind began to wander into what-ifs, if he arrived a moment too late, if he hadn’t caught on to the malevolent ruse. He tries not to think about Shigechi. Instead of indulging those thoughts any longer, he settles to focus on what’s in front of him.
The stiff couch he’s laying on. Gaudy hotel carpet, plain walls sparingly decorated, expensive curtains. A coffee table and one, two, three cups filled with varying amounts of water, plus a bottle of brandy that hadn’t been there previously. He doesn’t wonder how late the darkness implies, but lets the moonlight pouring in speak for him. An analog clock ticks on. To his left, a hallway to two bedrooms; one door, he knows a spent Jotaro rests behind, the other has been left cracked, and with Kakyoin nowhere in sight, it piques his interest.
Josuke recalls the sliding door. Right, someone went out. A hand came up to cradle his forehead when sitting up failed and an acrid taste threatened the back of his throat, but the sudden wind gusting in and tossing the curtains carelessly forced him back to attention. The open door confirmed his suspicions. On the balcony stood Kakyoin, looking distant into the horizon, into the grey clouds forming above. For just a moment, the wood under him looked- almost looked melted- when Josuke noticed the telltale green shimmer, running off the balcony and set loose into the city. He pored over every recent memory to recall if the Hierophant was always so clandestine.
Jotaro and Kakyoin told him about their circumstance, once, briefly. About defeating Dio, and what that meant for their power. For the Joestar line, the strength their stands stole from the user to manifest was relinquished, resulting in a more even balance between spirit and soldier. But Kakyoin, who was born with his stand, only continued his training after the decisive battle.
The stand seemed to pride itself in its elusiveness. One would believe Kakyoin never had it to begin with. He had learned to subdue its aura; so much that Josuke missed it when Kakyoin tripped on a stair and mysteriously caught himself, and only truly realized its existence when he and Jotaro took just too long to return from their “hunting” trip. Kakyoin stood staring out a window, while a shimmering green silhouette wrapped around his shoulders began to disperse once the door swung open. Jotaro bit down on his cheek and knit his brow at the sight, but otherwise held back his reaction.
Josuke chalked it up to caution and a battle-worn sense that forced him to keep the stand out of sight.
A flash of light and thunder boomed through the sky, bringing him back to the present. His body moved itself while lost in thought; now positioned over the arm of the couch, he took in the view of Kakyoin: arms slightly raised and unaffected by the sudden turbulence and downpour of rain. Perhaps he expected it. Almost as if he caused it. Josuke took note of how the man’s breathing grew labored.
He let his eyes wander to the city below. As far as the eye can see, near-invisible tendrils from the Hierophant mapped every bump and curve of the roads, the shape and layout of every building, even feeling out the flow of traffic. The lateness of the hour and heavy rain masked the gleam of the stand. His untrained eye lost sight while he tried to follow. There should be no way one single person had this much range, this much control and still be standing-
A dreadful cry from Kakyoin brought Josuke out of his awestruck daze. Thunder crashed once more, and as if on cue, Hierophant’s tendrils snapped and tore to pieces. The pounding in his head and his chest returned to stall his movements, but Crazy Diamond broke the redhead’s fall before hitting the ground and carefully brought him inside, stopping just shy of the rain and settled him on the carpet. Josuke leapt up to get the door closed, and knelt down to Kakyoin, whose face was painted with shock that the boy had been awake. The expression shifted into a grimace and he swallowed hard before shutting his eyes and letting his head fall to the side. A hand came up to his abdomen. The exertion of his stand became clear, and showed itself in the bags under his eyes and hollowness of his cheeks.
“I found his house,” Kakyoin rasped after a shuddering breath, “I can help.” Please don’t leave me behind, was the unspoken plea. Josuke glanced towards Jotaro’s door. The desperation in his voice wrenched his gut.
I won’t let us fail. Josuke nodded once. The affirmation allowed Kakyoin to succumb to exhaustion, and let the boy help him to his room.