Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rohan noticed the little things.

That was his job, after all, as a manga artist. He noticed the things that no one else did.

He noticed the sparrows that flitted in the trees, noted down the speckles on each and every one, how each one called out to the others differently.

He noticed the businessmen on their way to work, how they took their morning coffee, how they tied their ties, if they were rushing to work and how often, shirts slightly rumpled and their hair slightly unruly.

He noticed the frogs that leapt out of their burrows to croak at the rain, he noticed the ways the baristas called the names of the regulars, he noticed the way bees gravitated towards the kids in yellow shirts, no matter how much they screamed and ran away.

And as such, he noticed the little things about Kujo Jotaro, the enigma in the shape of a man.

He noticed how he took his coffee, always black with a teaspoon of sugar.

He noticed how he sat, always with his back against the wall, always both feet on the ground, sitting up straight, Star Platinum faintly juxtaposed over his figures like a guardian spirit.

He noticed how his shoulders seemed to relax when they went to the ocean, how he’d take off his jacket and roll up his pants, wading into the shallow end to investigate some organism he’d seen, with the same intensity as he looked at everything else in life.

Rohan prided himself on knowing the little things about Kujo Jotaro, which made Josuke’s question all that jarring.

“Truth or dare?”

They were all sprawled out in Rohan’s parlor, Nijimura, Josuke, and Koichi, everyone under a futon, the only light in the room being the lamp between them. Rohan had wanted to sit in his chair and take sketches, but one look from Koichi had him lying down with them, his sketchbooks hidden away in a drawer. The rain tapped against the shuttered windows, providing a pleasant atmosphere to their nightly gathering.

Why was he doing this? Well, truth be told, it was a number of factors. 

1. He had decided that his manga Pink Dark Boy was to have a sleepover scene in it. Rohan had never been one for sleepovers when he was younger, and he’d never been invited to one either, so he had never gotten the chance to research how one worked up close. Living through one was the best research, after all, and seeing as he could stand the presence of two people in this town, it was only logical that he have it with them.

(Unfortunately, Koichi had insisted on bringing Josuke and Nijimura over, but he could deal with that.)

2. Kujo and Joestar had been attacked by a stand user at the Grand Morioh Hotel, and had nowhere to go while the hotel staff cleaned the blood out of the carpet and walls. Since Josuke wouldn’t let Joestar within a mile of his mother, let alone let him stay with them under the same roof, the Hirose family not knowing who Joestar or Kujo were, and the Nijimura house being downright inhabitable by normal human standards, it had been decided that the two of them would live with Rohan for the time being, with Joestar taking the guest room and Kujo setting up a temporary office (Rohan wasn’t sure if the man slept enough to call it a bedroom) in his study.

Joestar was fast asleep, the hour being far too late for an old man like him. It was getting late even for the four of them, judging by how Nijimura had already fallen asleep and how Koichi had already begun to nod off into his hand.

And yet, the light from his study spilled from a crack in the door, the infrequent creaking proof that Kujo was still working.

The four of them had began to play a game of Truth or Dare, which began with dares, until it had gotten later and later and no one wanted to tiptoe to Rohan’s minifridge upstairs (he’d forgotten to stock the main fridge) and suffer through Kujo’s glares and quiet reminders to go to sleep, all to make some vile concoction to dare the others to eat.

Rohan had responded back once, telling him to go to sleep.

Kujo’s glare and the sudden appearance of Star Platinum made sure he didn’t do it again.

It’d really just turned into a game of Truth at this point, and truth be told, Rohan had learned some interesting things (Koichi had a sister, Josuke and Nijimura didn’t take out their pompadours before they slept, Josuke often had to give his mother’s boyfriends the shovel talk, Nijimura preferred rainy days to sunny ones).

Granted, he could’ve used Heaven’s Door to learn any of those things. But there was something different about hearing it from someone else's mouth, and not a leathery page. People embellished the story, and that told so much more about both them and the story, more than just objective words could. 

“Truth.”

“Why does Mr. Jotaro avoid Reimi’s place?”

Rohan prided himself on his observation skills. He prided himself on knowing more about most people than most people knew. After all, that is what made a good manga artist.

But try as he might, he couldn’t find an answer.

“I mean,” Josuke continued, and even Koichi was beginning to wake up to listen. “I took the old man and Mr. Jotaro down to Reimi’s alley a while ago, and the old man actually went in. Reimi was able to find the ghosts he’d been looking for and…” Josuke’s eyes were cloudy with the memory, a smile beginning to work its way across his face. “Man, you guys should’ve seen his face. I’ve never seen him so happy. But you know what the weirdest thing was?”

Rohan realised he was leaning forward, his hands on his chin.

“Mr. Jotaro refused to step into the alley.”

Koichi looked at him nervously. “He could just be on the lookout for stand users that followed you two?”

Josuke shook his head. “Why? Staying with us would’ve been the same. Plus, Reimi said that there were ghosts there that wanted to see him, and he went white . But like… You know him. I’m pretty sure that if he died he’d just stay alive, because he’d stare down Death or something. Is Mr. Jotaro afraid of ghosts?”

“I honestly thought he wasn’t afraid of anything.” Koichi whispered, hugging his pillow, his eyes wide.

This time, Rohan shook his head. “I don’t think so, but you’re wrong about the ‘he’s not afraid of anything.’” Spurred by Josuke and Koichi’s shocked expressions, he went on. “Do you ever notice how he tenses up when the clock tower rings? When he reads the newspaper, he always spends a little longer on the obituaries. And when he-”

“Stop, stop, stop.” Josuke put up his hand to shut up the mangaka, to his chagrin. “His job description is literally hunting down rogue stand users. Don’t those tend to leave behind dead bodies?”

“Josuke’s right, you know.” Koichi piped up, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “And the clock tower’s pretty loud, he might not be used to the sound. That doesn’t mean he’s afraid of it. It’s probably not that deep, you’re probably looking too far into it.”

Rohan could feel his insides rage and catch on fire. Were they blind ? There was a definite difference between normal behaviour and how Kujo had been acting.

Kishibe Rohan was a mangaka. He noticed the little things.That was his job, after all. He noticed the things that no one else did. And he knew, little quirks were never “not that deep.”

Most people hemorrhaged little quirks like torn bags of rice, and Rohan was able to clock what kind of people they were with just that much. 

Kujo Jotaro didn’t betray things, his tears were all carefully patched up so nothing slipped past, so Rohan had to stitch together what was going on beneath the surface with the precious little he had.

And it drove him mad .

Kishibe Rohan had been sipping gasoline ever since he had set eyes on Kujo Jotaro. And Josuke had just sent a cascade of sparks down his throat, igniting the gasoline into an unquenchable inferno that scorched, clawed at his insides, screaming to be fed.

And judging by the looks on Josuke and Koichi’s faces, it was showing.

The wind howled, slinging bullets of rain against the house. Lightning flashed, casting Rohan's manic stare in shadows.

“Ask me. Ask me truth or dare.”

Koichi and Josuke exchanged looks, uneasily, before Koichi started. “Truth or-”

“Dare. I dare myself to find the truth about Kujo Jotaro, if he’s actually afraid of something, or if I’m just overreacting, and he really is untouchable.”

Thunder crashed, as if to seal his resolve.

Now, now, Josuke was beginning to think. Rohan could see it, the rusty gears in his mind beginning to turn. “To be honest with you,” He started, unconsciously straightening his hair. “He really does seem untouchable. I don’t think he’d be so intimidating if I knew he was scared of like… Spiders... or thunder.”

“Yeah…” The fear in Koichi’s voice began to lift, revealing the inquisitive nature that Rohan had come to more than tolerate. “Now that I think about it, we barely know anything about him. I’ve tried to talk to him about his family, his work, he just doesn’t respond. I wonder if he has siblings? A crush? On one condition.” He threw him a sharp look. "You can't go looking through his memories or steal any of his pages."

"Or hurt him." Josuke piped up. "If you hurt my nephew I'll beat you up."

"I mean, Mr. Jotaro would beat him up long before you could."

"Wait, you're right. If you hurt my nephew, I'm not healing you."

Okay, they hadn’t reached the same epiphany that Rohan had, but he was more than willing to take it. A wicked smile spread across his face as the room lit up and rumbled with the force of the storm outside, as if to seal their covenant.

“Okay, listen, here’s the plan…”

Chapter Text

“… Mr. Jotaro, did you get all that?” Koichi asked.

The four of them were assembled around a private table at Deux Magots, Rohan next to Josuke and Kujo, across from Koichi. Nijimura had had to go home to take care of his father, which threw a wrench in their plans, but they could work around it.

Rohan had ordered a chocolate croissant and a sugar free nonfat macchiato with extra whipped cream, skim milk, and four shots of espresso. What could he say? He was a creature of habit. Not too much though, variety was the spice of life.

Koichi had a cream puff. Josuke had nothing.

As expected, Kujo had a coffee, black, with a teaspoon of sugar. Unexpectedly, he had also bought a bag of frozen berries for Star Platinum.

As a side note, something he found interesting about Kujo: He was a lot more friendly with his stand than everyone else was, except for maybe Josuke. Rohan himself only really used Heaven’s Door when he needed to, and he knew Koichi barely interacted with Echoes outside of stand combat.

Josuke, on the other hand, used Crazy Diamond more fluidly than the two of them combined, as a natural extension of himself, rather than a fighting tool, using its enhanced strength to augment his own, and even healing things without a second glance at them, as if it had become second nature to him. Kujo moved in the same way, while he didn’t use his stand’s power like his uncle did, it was not uncommon to see Star Platinum taking notes while Kujo was taking samples, or to see its features ghost over Kujo’s own as he stared at something too far away for normal eyes to see.

Being born with your stand, or having it from a young age really did change the way you interacted with the world. He was jealous.

(He didn't actually know when Kujo had manifested Star Platinum. Add that to the list of questions he had.)

Speaking of Kujo, it was obvious he was exhausted. If the renewed bags under his eyes didn't give it away, the way he was staring into his coffee, as if it was either going to reveal to him the secrets of the universe, or make a good pillow if he suddenly took a nosedive into the cup definitely did. Even Star Platinum looked groggy, barely visible and picking at the berries dejectedly.

Fingers crossed that Kujo would fall asleep. It would make their job so much easier.

At the sound of Koichi’s voice, Kujo jerked awake and blinked owlishly, before giving a curt nod.

“… Are you sure ?” Josuke asked, his concern evident in his voice. When they’d called this meeting, none of them had expected Kujo to be in this state, even if it did make sense. Rohan had fallen asleep watching the light from his study spill down the stairs, and he’d woken up to the muffled sound of Kujo reading his thesis to Star Platinum. It made sense that Kujo wouldn’t be at full capacity, especially before his coffee.

Kujo gave him a blunt stare. “You think the stand user that attacked Jiji and I is Ben Kamishirasawa, who looks like this.” He held up a sketch that Rohan had done. “His stand is called Plain Asia. You’re not sure what it does, but you think it has to do with memories, seeing as neither Jiji or I remember the incident.”

“So… What should we do?” Josuke asked. As Kujo turned to Josuke, Rohan made eye contact with a waiter across the restaurant, blinking twice.

The plan was going just as, well, planned.

But then again, did anyone expect anything less of the Great Rohan Kishibe?

Almost giddy, he pretended to listen to what Kujo was saying, something about staying away from the stand user and how he’d take care of it himself.

Typical. Another quirk of Kujo Jotaro, it was rare that he’d ask for assistance. The rare times he did was when he acknowledged that someone else could do it better, and that him doing it would be a hazard.

The waiter was coming closer, holding Rohan’s drink. He was a man of expensive tastes, and it revealed itself in his drink of choice, too sweet to be called coffee, but too much coffee to be called a dessert. Usually he would have one for a burst of creative inspiration, and then spend the rest of the day drawing or writing storylines, but not today.

Why?

The waiter would trip and fall over Echoes’s onomatopoeia when he passed Kujo, sending the drink into the air, and all over Kujo. Rohan would then reach over and help him clean up, all while using Heaven’s Door to scribble in a line.

I can’t lie

Simple, he knew. He really would’ve liked to write more and make it more descriptive, but every extra word was another chance for Kujo to figure out what he was doing and rearrange his face.

Afterwards, Josuke would just use his Crazy Diamond to pull the coffee off Kujo. It was the perfect plan.

And it was about to play out in front of him.

Just as planned, the waiter tripped, the drink soaring into the air. The world seemed to slow down as Josuke and Koichi’s eyes went wide, the coffee sloshing out of the cup and towards Kujo, who had just began to turn around-

And just as quickly as it happened, it didn’t.

In less time than it took to blink, Kujo was standing up, Star Platinum affixed over his figure.

In one hand, he held a full, unspilled, cup of Rohan’s coffee. In the other, he dipped the waiter, keeping him from hitting the ground.

The cafe was silent, save for the tapping of rain against the roof. There was a moment of stillness as Rohan stared at Heaven’s Door, and then Josuke and Koichi, dumbfounded.

... How had they forgotten about Star Platinum’s ability to stop time?

Seconds inched past as they all stared at each other, the pit in Rohan’s stomach plummeting faster and faster-

Think, Rohan, think. What would the protagonist of Pink Dark Boy, Kohan Rishibe, do in this situation?

Well, Rishibe wouldn't be in this situation, for starters, he thought nastily at himself. Rishibe would've accounted for Star Platinum's timestop in his plans.

What could he do?

For a second, Rohan considered calling it quits, leaving the group to go out in the rain, maybe even scream into it like he was in some sort of American coming-of-age film.

Until Josuke stood up.

And took the rest of the table with him.

Rohan almost laughed at how glorious it was. Clumsy, oafish Josuke had stood up so fast, stammering something about helping, that he had just made the situation worse , upending the table and catapulting Kujo’s coffee all over him.

Honestly, Higashikata, you would think you were birthed with both feet pointing backwards. How clumsy can you be?

Wait.

…

Well, even a monkey on a typewriter eventually ended up typing Shakespeare, didn’t it?

Rohan sprung to his feet, not repeating Josuke’s mistake (if it was one), Heaven’s Door’s hand ghosting over his own as he grabbed a couple conveniently placed tissues. “Oh my god, Josuke, you couldn’t be more clumsy, could you? Here, I’ll help you, thanks for catching my coffee, I really…”

I

“… owe…” 

Can’t

“… you…”

Lie

“… one.”

Heaven’s Door sealed the page at the base of his neck.

He won.

Chapter Text

Something interesting that Jotaro had discovered during his travels and work: Some stands, when reacting to certain conditions, had side effects.

Sometimes, those conditions were the temperature, as he’d learned with Yellow Temperance and Rubber Soul.

Sometimes, those conditions were space, like he’d learned with Hierophant Green.

And sometimes, it was being under the influence of another stand. He’d found a stand like that in Russia, one that looked harmless at first, sprouting flowers that didn’t penetrate the first layer of his skin.

That was, until his temporary partner had attempted to use his stand to enhance his abilities. From the place that his stand had touched him, the flowers dug past his skin and down to his bones, seemingly reacting to the new stand. 

Fortunately, his partner had caught on fast enough to keep from trying to enhance him again. Jotaro only thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t use the World that day.

That’s why, when Jotaro felt the numbing touch that could’ve only belonged to a stand trying to disguise itself on the back of his neck while he helped the waiter to his feet, his first thought wasn’t, “Oh shit, another stand attack.” It was, “If Plain Asia is still active, how will the two stands interact?”

(He didn’t go into research for nothing, after all. Curiosity often trumped his survival instinct.)

What was surprising, though, was that he’d chosen to say it out loud, judging by the looks he was getting from the other three members of the table.

“Interact?” After an uncomfortable pause, Josuke was the first to break the silence. “Like medicine?” At Rohan and Koichi’s further looks, he shrugged. “What? Mom can’t eat grapefruit, it messes with her depression meds. Are stands like that too?”

“Sometimes.” Jotaro found himself responding. “Some stands will react differently because of things like temperature, space, and already being under the influence of a stand’s power. Ever since I encountered a particularly nasty stand interaction in Russia, I assume that most stands have the capability to combine to create inconvenient side effects.”

In a funny way, he felt like he was standing at the front of a lecture hall again, only Josuke, Koichi, and Rohan were much more attentive than his usual 10am classes.

“I brought it up because I don’t know if, one,” He held up a finger. “If Plain Asia has been neutralised, or if I or Joseph are still under the influence of it, and two,” He held up another finger. “If the stand that just touched me will react badly to it.”

All three of them recoiled at the mention of a second stand. Understandable, they had their hands full with Plain Asia. It didn’t bring Jotaro any joy to acknowledge it either.

Rohan let out a short laugh. “You don’t know that a stand touched you, right?”

Really, Rohan? Jotaro paused to give Rohan a withering stare. Really? I’ve been working with stands for a decade. You really think I don’t know what a stand touching me feels like?

“Wouldn’t be alive for this long if I didn’t know when a stand touched me.” He found himself saying instead, shrugging as he grabbed the wad of tissue from Rohan to try to blot the coffee stain from his coat. Damn it, that’s going to stain. Why do I wear my good coat when Rohan and Josuke are involved?

“It’s okay Mr. Jotaro, I got it.” Josuke seemed to suddenly remember something as he straightened up, Crazy Diamond shadowing his form as it emerged, its armoured form bearing down on Jotaro, a gauntlet outstretched-

And time stood still.

Forged in instinct, Jotaro summoned Star Platinum to augment him, the world shuddering before his eyes in tiny timestops, ready to lash out at anything, anyone who dared to approach him.

Thunder rumbled in stilted measures, echoing so much louder in his head as his breath grew jagged in his chest. 

He wasn’t here. He was somewhere warmer, where the rain didn’t fall as much and the sun didn’t shine and the world stopped and an armoured form bore down on him with a gauntlet outstretched-

“Mr. Jotaro?” He vaguely heard a small, cautious voice- Koichi- and the stand paused, something flickering on its face that Jotaro didn’t care enough to look into, but obviously must have from the way his body tensed and stalled.

“You’re shaking.”

The clock tower clanged, once and no more.

Someone touched his shoulder.

The tension in his chest shattered as time stopped stuttering around him, and a strangled cry ripped itself from his chest, his lungs, his throat.

“Don’t touch me!”

He felt himself swivel, felt his fist connect with the skin and flesh stretched across someone’s face, felt the flesh give way underneath him as the world spiralled out of his grasp, disappearing from him in a murky, abyssal black.

***

Jotaro opened his eyes.

(Had he closed them? He hadn’t noticed)

As the arid heat washed over his skin, dread began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

I know this place.

Cairo, 1989.

5:15 AM.

A crash echoed behind him, the sound of a body hitting metal, caving it with a shrill creak. Blood-tinged water sprayed, wetting Jotaro’s back and staining the stone of the building behind him with a streak of rusty, foul smelling brown.

A sound he’d heard on a street camera once, and in his dreams for the rest of his life.

Star Platinum, he gasped, both then and now, more a plea than anything physical, as the stand blinked into existence, hovering at his side, as if it could change what would happen.

He knew how this would end. He knew how it would end, but this time he had hope.

Why? 

Because the dashes on Star Platinum’s face were blue, not purple. Because the coat that whipped around him as he turned was white, not black. Because the ache of poorly healed injuries and age that rang in his bones wasn’t there the first time and never followed him into his dreams.

Because maybe, the side effect this time was sending him back to that night.

Because maybe, just maybe, the universe was kind enough to bring them back.

A silly thing, hope was. And yet you cling to it. Why? 

He ignored the voice that pried into his mind and clenched his lips as words bubbled unbidden to his lips as he jumped, Star Platinum’s strength augmenting him so he could effortlessly reach the top of the building.

(Even with Star Platinum, his knees protested his landing.)

No matter how much he tried, though, no matter how much he knew beforehand, Jotaro couldn’t steel himself for the sight in front of him.

Kakyoin’s face was cast in a pallid grey, a stark contrast from the crimson hair and blood cascading down the side of his head. The metal of the water drum peeked through the mangled gap of what used to be his stomach, now forming a macabre waterfall of diluted blood and gore.

Jotaro nearly took a step back, off of the side of the building, Star Platinum moving to stop him.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe.

The universe had given him this one chance to save his friends, and all he could do was watch.

He was too late.

It was probably for the best, He tried to reassure himself as he watched Kakyoin’s chest flutter, like it held a caged bird, or a secret aching to be set free. I don’t know how I could affect the future. I can’t heal him, after all. I don’t know how his surviving could-

Even his reassurances sounded lame.

The back of his neck seared painfully hot, hot enough to unlock his knees and drive him to the ground.

You can’t lie. The voice from earlier dug into his brain.

Jotaro clapped a hand over the spot, gasping. A stand that acted as his inner consciousness?

There was a stand like that in Iran, right? His brain helpfully supplied.

Well, this was going to be hell. But he had practice repressing his thoughts, if it had affected Josuke or anyone else, then maybe he would be more worried. He took the shot, so it was going to save them from a world of pain, so it couldn’t be so bad?

You can’t lie.

The voice was even louder now, and it was beginning to sound familiar.

Jotaro forced himself to ignore the chiding. There were larger matters at hand, he thought, as Hierophant Green’s web disintegrated around them, filmy green strands beginning to unravel and fall apart like glistening snow, alighting on his clothes before winking out of existence.

He could hear Dio advancing on his grandfather, hear his maniacal voice cutting through the morning mist that had just begun to set in, but in that moment, it all felt distant, as if he was hearing it from underwater.

In that moment, all he could see was the determined flutter of Kakyoin’s eyelashes as he tried to keep his eyes open.

All he could hear was every shivery breath, taken in desperate spite of the forces trying to claim him.

As if in a trance, as if he were being lifted by strings, Kakyoin lifted his hands in a gesture Jotaro had seen so often. Hierophant Green’s main body began to reform, half destroyed and barely held together, hands glowing as he mirrored what was being shown.

No… Stop, please. Jotaro found himself begging. Save your strength. We can save you. Please.

You can’t lie.

Jotaro choked, helplessly mute.

God, he knew how all this would end, why couldn’t he look away?

His final, desperate stance, one born of cogs pushing into place at the last possible second, right before a clock counted down to zero.

One final attack, not to destroy an enemy of the flesh, but of the mind, emeralds arcing through the air to shatter the clock tower’s face, stopping time at the moment of his death.

The clock tower clanged, once and no more.

In the echoes as it faded, he looked like an angel.

In the emptiness of the silence, he looked all too human.

Jotaro fought the bile rising to his throat as he forced himself to his feet, biting back the heaving that built up in his chest as he pushed himself to walk towards the water tower, where Kakyoin’s body hung, the desperate strings holding him up gone, snipped like a puppet tangled beyond untangling.

He was pinned to the metal in a way that brought his leather shoes to Jotaro’s nose, forcing him to look up.

This never happened in life. Even when he used Hierophant Green to make himself taller, he always brought himself eye to eye with Jotaro. Never taller.

The night sky reflected itself in his eyes.

God, he was looking up. Even in death he was looking up.

He looked like a martyr.

He looked like a victim.

It wasn’t your fault. Jotaro thought shakily, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth, to avoid the scent of death that clung to the air. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.

He couldn’t do anything. It wasn’t his fault.

Tried and true method, JoJo. The voice taunted. Say whatever you need to say to get yourself to fall back asleep at night when you can’t justify staying up late re-grading papers.

“It’s not my fault.” He repeated, out loud this time, as if it would magically become true.

The back of his neck burned , burned hard enough to make him hiss out loud.

“It isn’t. It’s not my fault.”

Just another stand attack. I just need to weather through it.

“How long are you going to sit there and lie to yourself?”

Jotaro nearly tripped over his feet as he backed up, his stomach dropping into freefall as the wind picked up, craning his neck, he looked his friend in the face.

Kakyoin was looking down.

Chapter Text

Kakyoin’s ashen face twisted into a grin, canines glinting in the pale moonlight, red stained and filling a too-wide maw.  Dead, purple eyes stared into the distance, devoid of any light they had in life, as if he were being puppeted by some unseen force.

"What's wrong, JoJo? You look like you've seen a ghost." 

Jotaro’s mouth went dry.

His heart screamed at him to go, run, you’re not ready, you’re not ready to face him.

His brain admonished him, telling him that it’s only a dream, it’s only a stand attack, you’re fine, stop freaking out.

Jotaro was never good at listening in the best of times.

“You’re not Kakyoin.” He tried to respond, cringing at the weakness in his voice, before trying again. “You’re not Kakyoin.”

"In the flesh and blood. At least, what's left of him."

The wind picked up, sending Jotaro’s coat fluttering around him. Kakyoin’s hair stayed pasted to his forehead, but the scraps of coat that weren’t pinned to the metal fluttered frantically as well.

The silence between them weighed like elephants stomping on Jotaro’s chest, sparking the kind of anxiety that would usually send his fingers scrambling for the pack in his pocket , but he could only stare, stare at the figure that couldn’t even stare back at him.

"They had to scrape me off this water tower, you know.” Kakyoin was the first to break the silence, doing nothing to ease the tension in the air. His voice seemed airy, almost conversational, as if they were just sitting in the car again, talking about some strange tourist trap they’d seen while Abdul and Polnareff squabbled over playing Walk Like An Egyptian for the tenth time.

He found it annoying back then. What he wouldn’t give to be there now.

Kakyoin chuckled, the sound wet and diseased in what remained of his chest.

“Some of me's still in here, rotting after all… this… time. Keeping me here." Kakyoin’s face darkened, his grin forcing itself to stay on his face as his voice grew coarser, barely holding back a seething rage. "That might be why I couldn’t pass, huh? Can’t have a proper burial if you can’t gather the pieces. Or didn’t bother to ."

Jotaro couldn’t breathe. “I… I didn’t know.” God, it was the truth, but it didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real, not him, not the wind, not the drippings pinging off of the metal drum.

Only Kakyoin’s grackle-squawk, his grin, and those pale, dark eyes.

"You didn't know? You didn't fucking care.” Kakyoin dropped all pretense of smiling, his too wide mouth straightening into a downturned line.

Jotaro knew that expression. Disdain, and anger. The face of a judge who had made his verdict .

Kakyoin was a man of Justice, of Right and Wrong, and in his opinion, Wrong was to be purged. Wrong was to be met with disdain, and anger. It was to be punished.

Jotaro was Wrong.

And the fact that the back of Jotaro’s neck didn’t burn when he thought about it only affirmed that.

“I saw you afterwards.” Kakyoin’s icy voice cut through the hot Egyptian wind as a few dessicated, sickly green tendrils poked out of Kakyoin’s pant legs. “You studied those files like your life depended on it for stands that could bring me back, but you never looked at the coroner's report.” His arms jumped upwards, as if by marionette strings as he spread them wide, almost mockingly . “What, didn't want to see the fruits of your labour, JoJo? I died for you , and you couldn't even grace me with a look at my body? Did I mean so little to you? Were we all that expendable to you?

"No." Even though it was the truth, it still tasted bitter on his tongue.

The tendrils had snaked across the roof that separated the two of them, rooting Jotaro’s feet to the ground. Now they squeezed at his ankles as they crept up his legs, making him grit his teeth to keep himself from buckling.

Kakyoin’s dead gaze leveled at Jotaro. “Really.”

The tendrils stopped.

Jotaro swallowed, nodding. He felt incredibly exposed, naked even, but if confessing his true feelings is what it took to get out of here, he would.

What did that even say about him as a person? That he could only tell the truth if he was in danger? How did anyone put up with him?

"I died for your crusade, and you couldn't shed a tear at my funeral. I saw you. Polnareff cried. Joseph cried. But you didn’t." Kakyoin paused, the silence somehow even crueller than his words. “I meant that much to you? Not even your tears?”

“You know it’s not like that…” The words, the words were choking him, and if he could just make him understand.

“Oh, really Jotaro? It’s not like that, huh?” Kakyoin’s fingers curled into a fist and too late, too late as always, JoJo-

Jotaro’s feet left the ground.

  He pressed his eyes shut and held onto his hat,  silently trying to block out the false world around him.

It isn’t real. It isn’t real because my hat hasn’t fallen off. It isn’t real because I haven’t hit the ground yet. It isn’t real because he’s dead. It isn’t real because it isn’t my fault.

The burning on the back of my neck isn’t real, either.

---

None of this was real. It couldn’t be.

---

  in the asphalt as he brushed the dust and rocks off his now-black coat. Thankfully, because it was just a stand that’d attacked him, and this wasn’t real, he had nothing to worry about. He had full faith in Koichi, Josuke, and Rohan. They would work together, they would be able to dispatch whoever had attacked him, and soon enough he would be standing next to them on solid ground in the real world again, not a scratch on his body.

And he could put this whole ordeal behind him. 

“Jotaro!”

His grandfather’s voice was a figment of his imagination. The image of him, limbs rigid in terror, face twisted in hope, was a figment of his imagination. The advancing figure of Dio Brando, thrumming with power like a heat mirage  was a figment of his imagination.

“Jotaro! His power is to stop time! He can stop-”

The knife buried in Joseph’s chest was a figment of his imagination. His gurgling, filling the air before petering out and giving way to the panic of a gaggle of bystanders was a figment of his imagination.

Dio Brando, standing triumphant like the sun, a golden soldier with eyes full of contempt at his side, was a figment of his imagination.

The rational part of Jotaro’s brain told him all of this.

Jotaro was never good at thinking with the rational part of his brain .

“Jotaro, was it?” Dio purred, stepping over Joseph’s corpse with all the delicacy of a cat, mangling his name with a posh British accent.

“Nope. It’s Jotaro.”

“... Jotaro?”

“Nope.”

Dio’s hair seemed to rise as he hissed, pale skin stretched taut across a bony frame as he revealed his fangs.  “It doesn’t matter! You,” He pointed a single clawed finger at Jotaro. “Are Jonathan Joestar’s last descendant. Your mother is at Death’s door, and your grandfather has already crossed its threshold. Wouldn’t you like to see them again, Jotaro?”

“Yeah. But not until you pronounce my name right, you old piece of shit.” Jotaro leveled a cold stare at Dio, a cruel pleasure curling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the vampire’s eyes widen in shock, then narrow in distaste. “You sound smart. Say it with me: Jotaro.”

Jotaro wasn’t stupid. Years of fighting had taught him one thing, the best way to get away from a fight unscathed was to convince the other guy that it wasn’t worth it to fight you. His size, demeanor, and appearance usually kept the lesser schoolyard bullies away, insults withering away with a single look, to the point where he had it down to a science.

Get under their skin, and you could escape with your own. It’d saved him enough times during the goddamned trip, maybe it’d buy the boys enough time to subdue the user and stop this vision before it spiraled out of his control. 

Dio grit his teeth, twisting his face to something even more monstrous, as if he had let go of the shred of humanity he kept up for appearances. “You little shit-”

And sometimes, Jotaro thought as he felt the tingle of Star Platinum’s fists manifest over his own, you had to fight.

The first few blows were as he remembered them, a flurry of fists and rage, Jotaro blinded by fury and Dio by pride, and both of them by fear, and the knowledge that the night was new and that this fight would be settled by fists, not the sun.

It was better to let the fight go as normal here, Jotaro thought to himself as the World kicked him in the shin, hard enough to tear his pants. The less he varied from the fight, the less likely the stand would try to warp the scenery and hurt him again.

That must’ve been what had happened with Kakyoin, after all. If I hadn’t gone looking for him, I wouldn’t have had to see that. Jotaro rationalised to himself as he watched Dio showboat about his power.

Following the flow of his memories was easier. Letting the fight go on autopilot, letting his mind drift away and sit inside the cocoon he’d constructed for this purpose, it was something he’d practiced every time he dreamt of this scene.

All he had to do was nod and snarl at the right times, and buy time for Koichi, Josuke, and Rohan to subdue the stand user.

He repeated the sentiment to himself as he leapt into the air to pursue (or was he running away? He couldn’t be damned to care.) Dio, as Dio’s exclamations and cackles filled the air, as the dry heat whistled past his face, as time stopped for the first time and he braced for the inevitable bite of knives cutting past books and into his skin.

“You aren’t paying attention to me, are you?” Dio asked him.

If the sharpness in Dio’s voice scratched him, the statement, so contrary to the playbook he’d been following all this time, stabbed into his mind like a hot knife in snow.

Jotaro gaped as the world tore through his cocoon and forced him to look, listen. They were both suspended in stopped time, in the middle of the sky. The world had taken on the alien appearance that he’d come to be familiar for those pauses of not-time, as if he’d been standing inside of a negative of a photograph.

Except… Not completely.

Usually in stopped time, the world around him was still crisp, every detail rendered in fine minutiae.

This time was different, as Jotaro looked around. The world looked as if he was looking through a blurry fishbowl, distorted and hazy, select details coming into focus, before fading into oblivion. The display was dizzying to watch, and a deep sense of nausea rooted itself in Jotaro’s core. He tore his gaze away from his surroundings before he threw up, turning back towards Dio, only to find an equally confusing scene.

Dio was seated at a white table, the table top empty save for a porcelain tea set and a meticulous two-tiered stack of bluish-white apples. The strangest, and most notable part, however, was the fact that everything was floating in the air, somewhere above the street and between two buildings, perched in the sky. He made a display of pouring out two cups of tea as he gestured at the empty chair across from him, which had just finished dissolving into existence. “Have a seat, Jotaro.”

“N-No.” The word forced itself out past Jotaro’s pressed lips, an answer to something as he curled his hands into tighter fists.

Dio’s smile widened as he took his cup. “I insist.”

As if he had been submitted to the whims of a puppeteer (and upon feeling the cold, dry-slimy texture of a barely visible lattice of green tentacles expertly marionetting him towards the seat, he realised he had), Jotaro sat down, taking the warm-cool cup into his hands, watching the pearlescent tea swirl slightly, before settling into a shivering pattern.

He realised his hands were shaking.

“If I’m understanding correctly,” Dio started their conversation as if he’d been asking about the weather. “You can’t lie right now, can you?”

“No.” Like every other time, the words were dragged out of Jotaro’s mouth. Dio nodded slowly, flashing him a Cheshire grin.

“I hadn’t expected this to happen, if I’m being completely honest.” He murmured to himself. “I knew you’d get propelled into a place like this if you’d stopped time, but the truth-telling is something I hadn’t expected at all.”

Jotaro straightened up, his eyes widening. “Wait, so the truth-telling isn’t part of your stand? And you’re sure it’s not a side effect either?” Dread began to dawn on him. “Is there another stand user? Who is it?”

I have to tell them. Something cold began to seep into his muscles. They could be in danger if Kamishirasawa wasn’t acting alone.

Dio paused for a second, the picture of surprise, before he began to laugh. “Oh, you poor man. You poor, trusting, fool of a man. You never caught on, did you?”

Jotaro’s first instinct was to call on Star Platinum and punch Dio and his stupid tea party into an unknowing pulp, and he almost did so, Star Platinum’s features ghosting over the lines of his own, before he stopped himself.

Kamishirasawa (and he was certain at this point that Kamishirasawa was using Dio’s face to talk to him) said that using Star Platinum was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Maybe, if enough time passed between his uses of Star Platinum, the side effects of the two stand abilities interacting would diminish to the point where Jotaro could escape to the real world.

Instead, he watched the ripples in his tea, and waited.

Eventually, Dio calmed down and leaned back, watching Jotaro in the same way a cat watched fish in a tank.

“Tell me what you want, Jotaro.” A command, but not a question

Jotaro wanted a lot of things, things he didn’t want revealed to anyone, things he avoided even thinking about, because what good did thinking about them do for anyone.

Still, it wasn’t a question. He didn’t respond.

“Answer me.” Dio’s eyes gleamed. “I’m giving you a chance to tell me, without me having to pull it out of you. Call it goodwill.”

Jotaro bit back the urge to snarl. Some goodwill. “I want to get out of here.”

Dio sneered, and the diseased remains of what used to be Hierophant Green (it was Hierophant Green, he realised, or whatever was left of it) tightened around Jotaro’s body, an acidic bite beginning to burn its way into his skin. “That’s not what you want.”

Jotaro fought the urge to summon his stand and tear off the pieces of his friend’s soul. Instead, he forced himself to ignore the animalistic screaming, telling him that he was getting hurt, he needed to get out of here, NOW!

The acrid stench of burning flesh only grew stronger.

"You know, I think I finally understand why you and Lord Dio had the same type of stand." Dio’s head cocked to the side, as if his neck had simply given up on holding it upright, the sneer still frozen on his face.

"Why?" Was that his voice? Jotaro couldn’t tell through the haze.

He was sliding into a haze, he realised belatedly, and was slowly losing the strength to wake up.

"Aren't stands just manifestations of the true nature of a person's soul?"

“Yes.” A question he could answer, and an answer he couldn’t question.

“You want to be hurt. You know you deserve it, you know you do.”

(You don’t deserve the life you have, a partner had once told him after a mission.

Was it pity in her voice? Disgust? Resentment? He’d never asked her to clarify. He didn’t want to know.)

His eyes closed, as the world slowly turned more incomprehensible, fuzzier at the edges, all except for the burning lattice, digging its way into his skin, and the terrible smell.

He was so tired. So tired.

Someone was screaming.

(Another memory bubbled to the surface, one of a woman he loved screaming through a glowing phone, of neutral affirmations that yes, he’d heard her, the taste of a spare shirt between his teeth as he began to reopen and debride a wound that’d already begun to close, a job meant for two people done by one, but really, wasn’t that what his life amounted to?

So he listened, and didn’t scream when his knife slipped, and kept the truth from her for one more night.)

… So you’re not going to fight like that time.

No. He wasn’t.

(She’d asked him once, why he bothered to keep a phone on him. After all, no amount of calling him would make him come back for good.

He couldn’t tell her the truth.)

“Tell me, Jotaro. Tell me the truth. You want to be able to tell the truth, don’t you?”

“Yes.” What he wouldn’t give to tell the truth, for once.

And with that, he was falling, the chair disintegrating underneath him, the negative charge of stopped time dispelling from his skin as the world began to move again.

He didn’t open his eyes, not when he hit the ground hard, not when the world had gone silent except for his breathing, not when he thought he was back in the real world, and definitely not when someone pulled his head into their lap.

Don’t lie to yourself. The voice in his head reminded him as his eyes fluttered open slightly, only to be pressed shut by a gentle hand.

“Shhh, shhh, Jotaro.”

The voice sounded different this time, feminine and familiar. Was it because he couldn’t breathe? Was it because he was already dead?

He died on the streets of Cairo. His body just kept moving afterwards.

The hand combed through his hair in a way that reminded him of someone who loved him, tsking softly as it reached the part of his head he knew his bald spot had begun to grow.

“Jotaro…”

She sounded so familiar, and her perfume…

Against his better judgement, against the burning harness around his ribcage, Jotaro inhaled deeply, trying to press into her, trying to breathe in that perfume that smelled like home, and kindness, and the feeling that everything was going to be okay.

He was… So alone. And so scared. And so sorry that he’d ever been so harsh to her, and he knew she was an illusion, but maybe just this once, maybe he could play along for this brief respite, because two falls and what he’d seen and the burning…

It all hurt.

“H-“

“Why do you want to tell the truth?”

Why did he want to tell the truth?

Too late, he realised. Too late, he realised his mistake as the words spilled out of him, too late, he remembered the cardinal rule of stands that created illusions, to never trust what you’re shown, no matter what.

“Because I wish the people around me knew that I loved them.” He barely had anything left in him, but if this stand wanted to wrench this last bit from him… He couldn’t do anything to stop it. “Because I wish I wasn’t so fucking stupid with my emotions. Because everyone dies before I can muster up the courage to tell them anything, or they’re hurt by the truth when I tell them. Because I can’t tell Selena or Jolyne the truth about why I’m on the other side of the globe for their safety, and because I’m afraid. Because I haven’t talked to my mom in years because she was hurt once because of me, and I don’t want her to be hurt ever again, because I’m afraid. Because I can’t tell Josuke or Koichi that I actually do care about them, because I’m afraid. I-” Jotaro gasped for air, ignoring whatever the perfume was covering up, ignoring the damn cardinal rule. “Mom, please…”

His eyes were closed. He hoped, no, begged that Kamishirasawa would be merciful enough to let them stay that way.

“So would you say, you’re afraid to tell the truth, because you love them?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Jotaro tried. Jotaro tried to press his lips together, to somehow stem the flow of words, to alter them in some way.

Don’t make me say it, he pleaded mentally. Please. If I say it, I can’t take it back.

“Because whenever I care about someone, I only pull them down with me. They’re only put in more danger, and all they get in the end is me. Because when I care about someone, it's an incentive for them to care back.”

The people he cared about were put in danger because they were with him. Who was he to put them in danger like this? How dare he? And how much more danger did he put them in when they started to care?

She- No, it, because she wasn’t real- ran a hand through his hair again.

And he opened his eyes.

His mother smiled down at him, her eyes glassy and empty. A feeding tube led up her nose, and a breathing mask covered most of her face, fogging ever so slightly every so often with vague suggestions of breath, far too slow for her to be anywhere close to consciousness.

She sounded as if she was breathing through a straw, her breathing rattling in her chest, and she looked so small, so frail, so much like he’d heard she’d been like after he’d left for Cairo.

The vines wrapped around her, around him, leering at him as if to say I can drink and drink from her until there’s nothing left to drink, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Oh, Jotaro…” She- It ran her hand through his hair again, carefully making sure the IV line didn’t touch his face.

“Don’t.” Any bluster or bravado that could’ve been in his voice had evaporated, replaced by weak, hoarse rasping. “Let me go.”

“Are you sure you want her to do that?” Dio’s voice came from somewhere above Holly and her vines. A hand came down from the foggy reaches of the unknown past Holly’s head.

Like a puppet cut from its strings, Holly fell limp, her cheek resting in Dio’s palm as Dio slid into focus.

(Jotaro realised there were tears in his eyes.)

“You know what I learned in that coffin, at the bottom of the sea for 100 years?”

“I don’t care.” Thank you, stand that made him tell the truth, for making him tell a truth that didn’t slice up his throat to say.

Dio ignored him, but Hierophant Green’s squeeze around his ribcage let him know that he’d gotten to him.

“When you believe yourself to be rotten, the kind of rot that corrupts by association, any act of self-destruction is Right. Any act of self-termination is Just.”

Jotaro’s eyes began to close again, but another squeeze forced them open again.

“Think about death, Jotaro.” Dio’s hypnotic eyes stayed fastened to him, and a low thrumming echoed through the air, like silent thunder. “Your body doesn't get up, and your head doesn't open its eyes. Your lungs cease to fill, and your stomach begins to digest itself. Your muscles break down, and eventually your bones turn to dust. You return to the ground you came from. Doesn’t that sound peaceful?”

A series of images flashed behind Jotaro’s eyes.

Polnareff, twitching slightly as he reached out towards the drum unflinchingly, even as viscera painted his front and pooled in his hair.

Joseph, a dried, grey husk dressed in an Indiana Jones costume that he swore brought the adventurer out in him, his death mask one of agony and fear.

Iggy’s mutilated body, his legs and spine contorted in a way unnatural to the little dog, curled up in Abdul’s arms, which had long since stopped bleeding.

Koichi, painted in his own blood, more hole than child, and Josuke, kind blue eyes faded to a dead grey gaze, both dusted in coarse ash, leaving behind nothing but a pen nib earring.

Selena with a shot through the head, holding Jolyne, her eyes glossed over, her head hanging at a sickening angel

Kakyoin-

He refused to see anymore.

He couldn’t see anymore.

He didn’t want to give Dio his answer, because it wasn’t a complete one, because it wasn’t peaceful for them because they could live without fearing that one day, someone would care enough about them to paint a target on their back, a target which was always hit, no matter what.

“It does.” The answers slipped out of his husk now as his mind stirred feebly. “Not for them. For me.”

After all, no one could care for him if there wasn’t a him to care for.

“If it weren't Right or Just, we wouldn’t know Peace.” A new voice entered the fray, one he knew all too well

Jotaro didn’t have to focus his eyes to know who it was.

God, really, Kamishirasawa? You’re wearing my face too?

Jotaro himself knelt down to Jotaro’s prone form, leaving Holly’s head to fall limp against her shoulder. “We know how to get out of here. We’ve known it all this time. The truth will set us free. What do you want me to do?”

Jotaro- the real one- looked up at him, hoping that every feeling of contempt and hate and rage at having his emotions picked through like some sort of vivisected frog’s organs, at some coward’s whim, was conveyed in the glare he shot at him. “Eat shit and die.”

Jotaro sighed, as if he’d guessed he’d say that. “See, this is the part where you’re supposed to beg me for death. You’re… Not exactly playing into it.”

“Yeah, well,” He laughed derisively. “Your mistake was using my face against me.”

That startled the fake Jotaro, it seemed, his surprise painted clearly across his face. “But you hate yourself! You wish you could be so many other things, a better husband, a better son, a better father-”

“Yeah.” Jotaro shrugged. Kamishirasawa had given him the perfect handhold, something to grab and never let go of.

Because if there was one thing Kujo Jotaro was fucking legendary at, behind repressing his feelings, it was bluffing like hell.

“So why-“

“Because, to put it bluntly, you’re not a very good Jotaro.”

He scoffed, his eyes darting around, obviously lost for words. “But-“

Jotaro stood up, falling eye to eye with the white-clad imposter as he brushed off his own black coat. He took the fake Jotaro’s hat off his head and put it on, adjusting it to fall in line with the curve of his head before staring him down. “I suggest you run. I know I can’t summon Star Platinum, but-“ Jotaro cracked his knuckles. “I was fighting long before I had him.”

Now this, this was something Jotaro could do. There was something almost therapeutic about being able to punch himself in the face, feel the way the bone cracked under his fists and the stunned look in his eyes that he’d never see in real life. He landed a few blows before pulling back, watching as his double reeled, cowering. “Had enough, or do you want to let me out?”

A pause.

Jotaro, despite himself, grinned. “Y’know, if you turn yourself over to me as soon as I get out, I’ll just beat you down with my fists, instead of Star Platinum’s. Deal?”

The cards were all in Jotaro’s hands, and they were all aces. All five of them. A full house.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to play poker.

And unfortunately, he’d forgotten where he was.

Jotaro blinked when he was throwing his next punch at the fake-Jotaro. He wasn’t particularly worried, fake-Jotaro seemed to have no self-defense abilities, and Jotaro was certain that a little more roughing up was all he needed to crack and let him out.

Jotaro opened his eyes just in time to watch his fist connect with Jolyne.

Jolyne went skittering across the carpet of their living room before coming to a harsh stop as she hit the wall, the look of surprise and hurt that looked so comically out of place on Jotaro’s face all too at home on Jolyne’s as she stared at him, betrayed. Jotaro’s stomach plunged, as she began to scream at the top of her lungs.

No… I thought- We were in-

“Jotaro.”

He looked up, only to see Selena in the doorway, staring at him in horror and rage and fear.

It’s not real. Remember, it’s an illusion, it’s not real.

(It felt real, though.)

“What the fuck did you do?”

Her expression. Jolyne’s wails. The excruciating burning around his ribcage. The smell of flesh. The taste of blood.

It was all he could register before he blacked out.

Chapter Text

Surviving was driven by pain.

Pain was a body’s way of making sure it was able to survive.

Thirst was a body’s way of inflicting enough pain on itself to get it to do something that ensured its survival. Hunger was the same, and so was overheating or freezing.

Or, in Rohan’s case, making sure the experience of getting punched in the face by a tired Adonis was a strictly one-time affair.

He groaned as he doubled over, pressing his hands to his face as thick blood stained his clothes. “Fuck! Josuke!” Rohan gestured at his face. “Heal!”

Damn it, he should’ve already been on this. They’d planned that if Kujo caught them, and Rohan was hit, Josuke would heal him first, and then laugh at him.

He didn’t hear any laughing, but that didn’t stop him from snapping again. “Josuke!”

“Rohan.”

Rohan was not an easily scared man. Hell, it took a lot to make him concerned, or even care. But something about Koichi’s voice made his blood freeze in his veins, told him hey, muster the energy to care for a second, this is important . In spite of his rapidly swelling eyes, and biting down his common sense, he looked up.

Not many things made him think oh, shit , but this surely did.

Koichi was standing next to a knelt Josuke, staring at him with horror painted all over his face, a stark contrast from the fear all over Josuke’s.

Rohan didn’t like the teen, he could barely bring himself to respect him, but he had him figured out for the most part. Josuke was a particular breed of person, one that always had a smile on their face and a trick in their pocket, whether either of them were genuine of no concern to him. Naked, honest fear was a rare emotion with that breed of person, as they usually squashed down on any kind of depressive emotion, making them… ingenuine .

It made Rohan’s fingers tingle with the urge to draw, document this pure expression before it disappeared forever. He began to rummage about for a pen, cursing himself for not bringing his drawing pad before reaching for the crumpled stack of napkins-

“ Rohan .” A different voice, this time.

Ah, Josuke’s fear was turning into anger, his voice measured, but on the verge of bubbling over. It was too late now. A pity.

“What the hell did you do to him?”

…

If they were in a movie, Rohan was sure they would’ve heard a record scratch. “Excuse me?”

Josuke clenched his teeth, Crazy Diamond manifesting as Koichi put a hand on his shoulder. “For one second, look past your massively overinflated ego and your need to put everything in a shitty manga, and look at the consequences of your damn actions ! Can you do that, Rohan? Can you do that for one second ?” 

Something in Josuke’s voice withered Rohan’s retort to nothing, leaving him with nothing to bite back with. In its absence, with great difficulty, he forced his pride down and his eyes open to see what Josuke was kneeling next to.

Oh, shit .

There’s a certain feeling you experience when you see a grand statue in disrepair, dashed to pieces and detached from its pedestal. Something you never expected to fall, broken beyond repair, a haunting elegy to what it once was.

As Rohan found, that same feeling was applicable to grand humans too.

Kujo lay prone on the floor, curled up on his side, Rohan’s blood staining his left fist, still clenched tightly enough to render his knuckles white. 

(Kujo had a silver band on his ring finger, one that definitely wasn’t there before, and one that fit the shallow groove around his finger all too well. That must’ve been part of what broke his nose.)

His coat was spread out behind him, as if he had been frozen at the zenith of a jump and stuck to the floor.

(Like a superhero cape, from the American comics Rohan sometimes looked at idly.)

But the part that rattled Rohan’s skull, in the same way that a snake or decay would rattle a lesser man, was Kujo’s face.

The Kujo he knew was usually a grand, looming statue, an Adonis carved from marble, impenetrable and strong. The Kujo he knew was usually objectivity placed in human form, brutally emotionless and clear-eyed.

(Rohan envied him, his view of the world must’ve been the closest a human could get to Truth, with no emotions to obstruct his view.)

The Kujo in front of him had gone pale, mouth gaping in an expression halfway between shock and a snarl, breaths rushing fast and weak. His eyes were wide, pupils blown wider, drowning his eyes in a sea of horror, focused on something only he could see. Every so often, Star Platinum would ghost its features over his skin, flickering in and out of existence like a broken lightbulb, growing duller with every iteration.

His hat had fallen when he did.

He looked vulnerable without it.

He looked afraid. 

He looked human.

Rohan’s face went numb in a way that had nothing to do with his broken nose. “I didn’t know.” His voice sounded pitifully weak, even to him, but something about Kujo’s state made his bluster die in his throat.

“You didn’t know.” Josuke’s voice went flat.

“Whatever you think of me, Higashikata Josuke, I am not a bad person.” Rohan’s words grew stronger as he kept speaking. “I would never intentionally put Kujo in danger. The problem with my stand is that the more vague my instructions, the more likely they are to backfire, or do something I didn’t want it to do.”

It was probably for the best, He tried to reassure himself as he watched Kujo’s chest flutter, like it held a caged bird, or a secret aching to be set free. I didn’t know that it’d backfire like this, I was just curious, and the truth can’t hurt someone, can it?

“Can you undo it, Rohan?” Koichi finally spoke, trying to cut through the tension that simmered in the air that had nothing to do with the storm forecasted earlier that day.

You don’t have to tell me twice . Heaven’s Door erupted from his form, sporting a pair of black eyes to match his own as it glided down to the back of Kujo’s neck, almost making contact before-

With a battlecry that sounded more like a scream, Star Platinum burst from under Kujo’s skin, a gloved hand grabbing Heaven’s Door by the throat, and another rearing back, curling into a fist.

Rohan grasped at his neck, trying to peel off invisible fingers as his entire body tensed, his eyes wide as he gasped for air that didn’t pass his throat.

This is how I die , he thought, staring Star Platinum down, watching as its fist arced through the air.

(Was it just him, or did it look disturbed?)

Rohan Kishibe looked death in the eye once, and he would do it again. He would stand steadfast, even as Star Platinum caved in his head. He-

“Crazy Diamond!”

“Echoes, Act 3! Three Freeze!”

Was Star Platinum crying?

Crazy Diamond materialised behind the purple stand, hooking its arms under its armpits, attempting to restrain it, ignoring the way it strained and thrashed like a small child, teary eyes wide and terrified, clouded like its master’s.

Echoes slammed its fist down into its palm, and Star Platinum’s fist followed suit, falling into the ground with enough force to crack the floor, letting go of Heaven’s Door, and causing Kujo to flinch as a painful cracking noise came from his hand. Rohan rubbed at his neck, sucking down lungfuls of air before giving Koichi a stink eye, trying to ignore the betrayed look on the stand’s face. “Excellent plan, Koichi dear. I was expecting more from… you, of all people.”

Koichi and Echoes both looked at Rohan, exasperation written all over their faces. “Saying thank you is free, and it’s also a nice thing to do, Rohan.”

Rohan ignored Koichi, standing up. “Alright, it’s clear that we can’t do anything to help Kujo until we can break the stand that he’s affected by, or the side effects he was telling us about.” The gears in his mind were grinding now, making Rohan flex his fingers in morbid excitement, the best kind in his opinion. “However, there is one place in Morioh where stands from outside of it don’t work. But , if the Stand user follows the targeted person into that place, the Stand is maintained.” He looked at Koichi, giving him a smile that looked more like a manic grimace, his voice turning sugary sweet.

Stick to the plan, Rohan. Deal with the consequences later.

“Koichi dear, do you remember when I gave you the ability to speak English for your test, and you walked into Reimi’s alley, and immediately lost the ability to speak English to that level?”

“ That’s how you passed?”

“Well yes, but-” Koichi stopped in his tracks, his face hardening. “You want to interrogate Mr. Jotaro? When he’s like this ?”

“Well, it is what we set out to do-”

“ Stop it .” Josuke hissed, his hands visibly trembling as he reached for Kujo’s hat. “Just… Stop it. He’s hurt.”

Rohan felt his temper begin to bubble up into his chest, pressing against his forehead. He knew how this song and dance went, he’d known it since he was at his mother’s knee, pin it on the kid who held the smoking gun, who was the closest, gang up on the kid who didn’t fall in lockstep with everyone else. “You both approved of this! We all planned to do this!” He pointed at both of them, his finger shaking with indignation as his voice pitched upwards tremulously. “This is as much your fault as it is mine!”

“OF COURSE WE KNOW THAT!”

Surprisingly enough, it was Koichi who screamed this time, cutting off both Josuke and Rohan in the middle of their broiling fight. Koichi, who raised both of his hands, palms towards both of them before they started fighting again, his breath coming out in hiccups as tears pricked at his eyes, overflowing and cascading. Koichi, who gulped before continuing. “Of course we know that… Mr. Jotaro trusted us, and we did this to him.” 

He gestured at their fallen guardian, who had begun muttering something under his breath, curling up even more into himself, looking more like a scared child than a protector, eyes tracking ghosts that didn’t exist in this world.

A silence fell between the group, as they all wrestled with the implication of their deed.

Kujo… Trusted them, Rohan realised. 

Kujo, who was so careful about stands and stand users, trusted them enough to have a cup of coffee, to let Star Platinum eat without being ready for a fight.

Trusted Rohan enough to temporarily live with him under the same roof. Trusted Rohan enough to look at one of his fresh drawings, knowing that by doing so, he ran the risk of Rohan’s Heaven’s Door being used on him.

Rohan could feel his heart arresting in his chest as he tried to convince himself that the lump in his throat was the pain from his broken nose.

“ Fix it , Rohan.” Josuke hissed from between his teeth. “I’m… I’m not healing you until you can get Heaven’s Door off of him.”

Josuke was panicking and Koichi’s idea nearly got him killed.

What would the protagonist of Pink Dark Boy , Kohan Rishibe do in this situation?

“If we brought him to Reimi’s place,” Rohan’s voice lowered, the gears in his head turning. “Whatever Stand side effects that’re reacting with Heaven’s Door and hurting him right now would disappear. And…”

It was the perfect chance to read Kujo’s mind. But no information was worth the price of his trust.

“I won’t go with him. None of us will. We’ll tell Reimi that an enemy stand user targeted him, and he needs a safe place to stay until we get rid of him.”

“We’ll hunt down this Ben guy.” Koichi put his hand on Josuke’s shoulder again, who nodded numbly. “You keep watch over the entrance, in case he tries to come in.”

We’re doing this because maybe taking a stand user off of Kujo’s plate and giving him a break might be enough to make it up to him.  

The intent was clear. Rohan reached his hand over Kujo’s body, towards Josuke and Koichi, not in a handshake this time, but a fistbump. Coming together in what Rohan could call camaraderie, to fix the massive mess they made.

Koichi sniffled, taking a shaky breath. “To save Mr. Jotaro.”

Josuke swiped at his face and scowled, trying to keep up his false front of aggression. “To save Mr. Jotaro.”

Rohan bumped his knuckles against Koichi’s, ignoring Josuke’s. “Let’s not tell him who the real culprit of the attack was.”

Koichi shrugged his shoulders, using his fist to push Rohan’s into Josuke’s. “Like you said, we’re all at fault.”

“But also we didn’t do shit.” Josuke added. “So if you try to pull any other asshole moves, I’ll tell my nephew faster than you can draw another manga panel.”

“Hey!” Rohan shot a glare at Josuke, who grit his teeth before Koichi could intervene.

“Seriously, you two? Come on, knock it off! We’ve got more important things to do!” Koichi opened the door to the more public-facing dining area, beckoning for the others to follow. “Both of you grab Mr. Jotaro, and we can walk to Reimi’s.”

“That might not be the best idea,” Josuke interjected, as he stood up, slinging one of Kujo’s arms around his shoulders. “It’s raining outside right now.”

“You put so much product in your hair, I’d be surprised if the rain would do anything to it.” Rohan stood up too, slinging the other arm around his shoulders and nearly buckling under his weight. Holy shit, he’s heavy. What kind of marine biologist needs to get this jacked? Does his job description include fighting sharks?

He heard Josuke’s snicker and suppressed the urge to write Cannot look at Kishibe Rohan in his book.

Was Cannot talk to Kishibe Rohan fair game?

Judging by Star Platinum’s sudden existence when Heaven’s Door came out, and Koichi’s look, probably not.

“Like you’re one to talk, Rohan.” Koichi rolled his eyes as he beckoned again. “We’ll just call a cab then.” He turned away, before seemingly realising something and turning back. “This is going to look really weird.”

Rohan quirked his eyebrow, but Josuke was nodding. “Yeah, Rohan looks like he lost a fight with a wall, and Mr. Jotaro looks like we just killed his best friend in front of him. Does Mr. Jotaro even have friends? I mean, he must’ve, but like… Where’d they go?”

It was obviously meant to be a joke, but everyone flinched when Kujo’s mouth actually started moving , out of sync with his words, as if someone else was pulling the sounds from him. “I used to. Three of them died in Cairo, and one went missing in Italy.”

“Ah.” Josuke’s eyes widened as he patted Kujo’s shoulder awkwardly with his free hand. “Sorry about that.”

“So. Questions still work on him. Good to know. Let's not ask him any, or if we've got to ask, make sure they're targeted at us, or things he can't answer.” Koichi looked rattled as he waved again. “Let’s go, we’re starting to get stares.”

“Just another Sunday.” Rohan grumbled, as they slowly made their way to the entrance.

Chapter Text

Turns out that it was raining hard enough to wash the product out of Josuke’s hair. And his own, for that matter.

Rohan ran a hand through what used to be a perfectly styled head of hair, the headband circling his forehead doing nothing to keep a significant amount of his hair out of his eyes. He looked over at Josuke, who was having a similar problem and was beginning to resemble a shaggy, wet dog. “Koichi, when’s the cab coming?”

Koichi stood on the curb, waving towards any cab that came close to them like a madman. Even his prematurely grey hair, usually prone to messily standing on end, hung draped all over his forehead and cheeks. He turned back to Rohan, blinking the water out of his eyes. “I don’t know why, they just keep passing me!”

“Maybe they’re already full? It is tourist season. We’ll catch someone.” Josuke tried to give a consoling shrug. “Anything to get out of the rain. My nephew can’t get a cold in the middle of a murder investigation, right?” He tapped a finger on Kujo’s nose, an easy smile hiding his growing apprehension.

“Yeah.” Kujo responded, tonelessly as ever. His head rolled at Josuke’s shrug, causing the hat perched precariously on his head to fall off into a puddle, where they all stared at it. Koichi knelt down to pick it up, trying to push it back onto Kujo’s head, with no luck.

“You know what, I’ll just hold onto this.” Koichi turned back to the cars, shoulders slumping in defeat as he used it to try to flag someone, anyone down in vain.

“Nice going.” Rohan snorted, trying to cut through the uncomfortable tension that had arisen ever since Kujo had talked about his friends.

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. ‘I’m going to ask about Kujo’s emergency contacts.’” Josuke rebutted, an inch of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“How was I supposed to know he’d say ‘My wife, but she won’t pick up.’? And what kind of answer is that? If he’s married to her, why wouldn’t she pick up?”

About twenty minutes ago, Rohan would’ve tensed up at the motion of Kujo’s muscles tensing for a second, a harbinger of the flood of words that was about to spill out of him, but now? Was anyone counting now? Even Koichi had messed up and asked a question he could answer. How were they supposed to talk without tripping him up?

“I missed our anniversary and Jolyne’s birthday for this trip. When I go back, we’ll finalise divorce proceedings.”

… Ow . 

The other exclamations had been… Less personal, things about the weather, and his job, and Morioh. Everything had been blander, delivered with the cold formality of an empty grave.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Rohan thought he saw something spark in the blank abyss of Kujo’s eyes, something emotional and hurt. 

Tearing his eyes away from Kujo, Rohan made eye contact with Josuke, and an event happened, something rarer than a blue moon.

They agreed on something.

“... Why did you wear your ring today then, Jotaro?” 

The question seemed to get lodged in Rohan's throat, the same way his heart did when Kujo stood a little closer than normal when he was penciling out sketches of stand user descriptions or various marine lifeforms for his work. Even using his name felt like a gross breach of privacy, more than the question itself.

“Because we’re not divorced yet.”

Yet .

Even from an emotionless giant like Kujo, the word held power. Spoke volumes about who he was.

“How many anniversaries and birthdays did you miss, Jotaro?” Josuke spoke next, barely audible over the rain. “She wouldn’t be divorcing you if this was the first time…”

“Six anniversaries. Thirteen birthdays.”

“Whose birthdays?” Rohan interrupted Josuke before he could say anything. “You’re 33, right?”

“I’m 28. I’ve missed five of my daughter’s birthdays, and eight of my wife’s.”

“What about your own birthday?” Rohan asked. Wow, thought he’d be older.

“You have a daughter? What’s her name?” Josuke asked at the same time, brightening enough to be his own sun.

“I don’t care enough about it.” Rohan could almost hear the harshness in Kujo’s voice if he had been in a right state of mind, and the way it would have instantly dissipated, replaced by the lightest hint of gentleness that would only come out when he talked about Koichi or Josuke. “Her name’s Jolyne. She turned seven.”

“Aw, that’s sweet! I have a… Grandniece!” Josuke was a simple person to entertain, just put a few cute kids or animals in front of him and he was set. No doubt he was having a field day at the idea of Kujo with a child.

Rohan was too, but for a completely different reason. Kujo had always struck him as a lone wolf, not someone who would settle down with a wife or a child, or someone who would be interested in that sort of lifestyle. This… Saccharine side of Kujo was definitely a new perspective on him.

But that begged the question… 

“If you love her so much,” Rohan ignored the flash of warning in Josuke’s face. “Why don’t you go to her birthdays?”

“Rohan!” Josuke’s eyes widened, but Kujo was already talking.

“I don’t go to her birthdays because I distance myself from my family because of my work.”

The rain fell around them as Rohan and Josuke looked at each other. Rohan was sure that his own expression of confusion and dismay was mirroring Josuke’s. A rare event indeed, but still…

It didn’t make sense. Kujo obviously loved his daughter, he couldn’t lie after all, but why would he miss her birthday? Why would he stay away from his family so often that his own wife tried to divorce him? Why put himself under so much stress and burden for nothing?

Was it the money? Did he somehow find a loophole in Heaven’s Door? Was it some ego problem? What was it?

Even after Rohan held him down and peeled away the layers to his enigma, expecting to find his newborn naked form underneath, Kujo Jotaro only revealed less and less. Questions, instead of answers.

So embroiled in his own inner conflict, Rohan was startled when he heard Josuke begin to ask a question, slowly, his forehead creased under the mass of wet hair. “Why… Why don’t you… Why do you distance yourself from your family, Jotaro? You love them… Don’t they love you back?”

His voice was hesitant and tremulous. The question had to be asked, but he was obviously scared of the answer.

“They love me.” Kujo answered, as matter of fact and absent as every other question, lips always out of focus and out of sync. “And I love them back. But I made some powerful enemies when I was young, and my family doesn’t have stands. I run away so they can have a better life. It hurts them but I would rather they hated me than seeing them dead.”

“Nothing’s working!” Koichi yelled, kicking at a puddle in rage and snapping Rohan and Josuke out of their impromptu interrogation. “No one’s stopping!” He turned around, face screwed up in despair, before suddenly stopping.

Ah, he’s found us out was Rohan’s first thought. It definitely… wasn’t preferable to be chewed out by Koichi. Not out of any sort of obligation to him, after all he was basically a child , it just… Didn’t sit right with him. Koichi was his connection to the real world, after all, the reason why the real world didn’t stop and gawk or scowl when he joined it. Alienating Koichi would only make it that much harder to research the real world.

Then he saw the telltale glimmer of an idea in Koichi’s eye, and he knew it would all be okay for him.

“Rohan, Josuke.” Ah yes, here was that brilliant idea . “Can you take Mr. Jotaro behind the corner?”

Did Koichi think that they were the reason they couldn’t find a cab? He could understand Kujo and Josuke, they did look on the more dangerous and threatening side, but him? Kishibe Rohan? The cab driver should be honoured to chauffeur him wherever he needed to go.

Rohan pursed his lips, about to give Koichi a piece of his mind, when Josuke gave him and Kujo a once-over and nodded. “Rohan, I think you’re forgetting you and Mr. Jotaro look like you walked out of a murder scene.”

Rohan looked down at his bloodied clothes, and towards Josuke’s shoulder, where Kujo was still tracking unseeable objects with his eyes.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let’s try that then?”

It took some shimmying to get Kujo turned around enough that they could hide behind the corner, but the effect of hiding was almost instantaneous. Within minutes, a cab pulled up to Koichi and a driver with light pink hair pulled down the window, exchanging words with Koichi, most probably where he wanted to go, and why he was currently outside in the rain. Rohan couldn't hear the actual conversation, but he could pick up the British accent, and a small stuffed frog on the dashboard.

In response, Koichi gestured for Josuke, Rohan, and Kujo all to come out, prompting the driver to look them over once, quickly roll up their window, and drive off.

If Rohan wasn’t so peeved about being soaked, he would’ve laughed then and there at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

Morioh has a murder rate higher than any other town in this prefecture, you’re really bothered by the sight of a bloodsoaked mangaka? Yesterday, a mysterious pink haired man was run over by a car, and no one cared enough to follow up after they found out he had no identity. Sir, you are in the wrong town.

Judging by the look on Koichi’s face, he probably wasn’t supposed to be grinning at this new development.

Josuke groaned, putting his face in his remaining hand. “My hair’s a mess, my nephew’s gone batshit, and mom’s going to kill me for going home like this. Let’s just drop Mr. Jotaro off at my house, my mom can look after him.” He suggested, more than a hint of desperation leaking into his voice.

“Ms. Higashikata isn’t a stand user, Josuke.” Koichi reminded him gently, trying to keep his own irritation out of his voice. “If Kamishirasawa tries to come back to finish off Mr. Jotaro while we’re out looking for him, she won’t be able to hold off his stand.” His face fell again.

Rohan didn’t believe in fate, or a god (why bother when you could rewrite someone’s reality on your own? Wouldn’t that make you a god in your own right?). In his opinion, the universe was in a constant state of divine, manic mess, coincidences bouncing off the walls of reality until they collided head on at full speed and created opportunities.

That being said, he certainly believed that the bus that hurtled down the road past them, headlights cutting through the darkness and highlighting their astonished faces, the sound of its engine rivalling the clap of thunder chasing it, was one of those coincidental opportunities.

The bus .

Koichi’s face lit up with the excitement of puzzle pieces clicking together. He began to sprint, wantonly splashing in puddles as he ran after the bus. “We can ride the bus to Reimi’s! I have enough for fare!”

“Isn’t that a little…” Rohan scrunched up his nose at the idea of having to share a compartment with strangers while he was like… This . “... Pedestrian?”

Josuke followed in hot pursuit, forcing Rohan to follow or risk dropping Kujo. “We’re walking right now, not sure how a bus can get more ‘pedestrian.’”

---

Two highschoolers, a world famous mangaka, and a marine biologist walked into a bus.

While that sounded like the beginning of an incredibly lame joke, that was their situation at the moment.

Rohan once believed that the most awkward thing that could’ve happened to him was the one time a girl had tried to hint at wanting to kiss him when he was 17, only for him to set her up with another boy in his class, not understanding her intentions.

It turned out that hanging onto a railing with one hand and holding a six foot five inch Greek god of a man with the other, one who had curled his head into his neck and was currently babbling softly about “Right” and “Just” into his ear while an tourist in what looked like a dress and a moss gauntlet stared at them was much, much worse.

Rohan wasn’t in the business of shame, but in that moment he wanted to melt and combine with the puddle he was making. 

(It was an interesting emotion, one he didn’t feel very often, and if he had hands to write with, he would’ve been scribbling down a new plotline for Kohan Rishibe’s new friend, he tried to justify to himself.)

Josuke leaned towards him and rolled his eyes, speaking just loudly enough so the woman staring at them could hear. “You would think some people would mind their own business.”

Rohan shook his head in disdain, keeping his voice down, unlike Josuke. “At least Koichi’s keeping her occupied enough to make sure she doesn’t call the police or ask him a question.”

He looked at the bus map antsily.

Getting to Reimi’s alley would take a while.

He looked around the bus.

While they were far from the only riders on that day, the bus was still fairly deserted, to the point that when they had boarded, it almost doubled the amount of passengers. Other than Moss-Gauntlet giving them the stink eye, there was a girl with maroon-dyed hair, sitting with a banged up kid about the same age, both poring over a strange device in another girl’s hands. Opposite from them was an older man with the front of their hair dyed blue, wearing an ostentatiously American shirt patterned with various sea-life, poring over a page of writing with another man who somehow looked normal, if you looked past the fact that he was wearing mirrored sunglasses, a scarf, a hat, gloves, and a long coat, covering up any distinguishing features. Farther down the aisle, away from the motley group, was another man wearing a medical mask, who was also staring at Rohan with a wild look in his eyes. As soon as Rohan looked at him, however, he looked away, pretending as if he’d never seen him.

Suspicious. He didn’t care.

He began tapping his foot while listening to Koichi prattle on.

“I do hope this gets resolved quickly,” Koichi apologised (what kind of conversation would it be if he didn’t?) “Yukako-chan gets upset when I'm not in contact with her for longer than 2 hours, and it would be really unfortunate if she tied me up with her hair in the basement tonight, I have an exam tomorrow!” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily.

…

Rohan seriously wondered if Koichi had inherited some sort of strange brain fungus that told him to say weird things to people. Especially things they had no way of knowing the context for .

“Koichi.” He hissed as Moss-Gauntlet’s eyebrows skyrocketed into their hairline, giving them a particularly ornery look.

“You seem like a nice kid… How do you know this… man?” They gestured at Rohan, who had the grace to look offended before his blood froze over at the feeling of Kujo’s breath tickling his neck as he began to speak.

“Koichi met Rohan when he went to go get an autograph, only to have pages of his life stolen from his body.”

“Kujo-san…” Rohan tried to shut him up with a look, not willing to try the risk of letting go of the handrail to cover his mouth.

Moss-Gauntlet pulled out a phone, eyes narrowing between Josuke and Rohan. “Is he okay? Should I call someone?”

If they were in a manga, Rohan would be able to see the panel right there. A strong impact behind Josuke as his mouth dropped open, an exaggerated sweatdrop down the left side of his face as he tried to defuse the situation. As it stood in real life, he let out a nervous laugh, biting his lip and pasting on one of his trademark giant smiles. “Oh, don’t worry, my nephew’s alright, Rohan just roughed him up a little!”

Rohan seriously wanted to ask Josuke if there were brain cells in his head or if it was just filled with hair products.

“How did I,” He asked, injecting as much sweetness as he possibly could into his voice to disguise the desire to write Higashikata Josuke cannot breathe into the pompadoured prick’s face. “A 180 cm mangaka with almost no formal fighting experience, beat up a 195 cm man whose idea to cool down is probably going to the gym and punching a bag?”

“Aw, Rohan, don’t sell yourself that short.” Sarcasm laced Josuke’s voice as he pulled Kujo higher up on his shoulder for extra support. “I’m sure you found some way to take him down.”

Right on time, at the wrong moment, Kujo started talking again. “You didn’t, I hit you when I lashed out.”

Rohan thanked the universe for finally having Kujo say something that didn’t increase the likelihood of Rohan experiencing the inside of a jail cell for reasons other than manga. “Thank you, Kujo-san.”

Kujo responded by breaking into new sweats, shaking, and panting even harder against Rohan’s neck. Which really didn’t help against Moss-Gauntlet’s judgemental stare.

Not like Rohan cared, as he stared back at them. I’m gay, you think this bothers me? Well, yes, but I’m sure as hell not going to let you know.

“So…” Something in Rohan’s stomach curled in a vindictive pleasure as Moss-Gauntlet coughed again, breaking off their minute battle, eyes flicking to Josuke instead. “How do you know this man?” They gestured to Kujo.

Ah. A good question. Rohan watched Josuke as he lit up, suppressing the urge to grin himself. Josuke took great pride in Kujo, and if they could have him talk about him for the rest of the ride, maybe they would be satisfied and not call the police on Rohan.

“I’m actually his uncle!” Josuke let go of the railing for a second to ruffle Kujo’s hair, who flinched. “I know, crazy, right? He looks terrifying, but he’s actually a big ol’ sweetheart when you get to know him, and he’s such a good nephew! He just cares too much, don’t you, Nephew-san?”

Kujo was properly wheezing against Rohan’s neck, the babbled utterances becoming clearer and clearer, until, clear as the sky was not,

“Yes.” Kujo gasped, like the word ripped him up inside as it came out.

Moss-Gauntlet’s eyes narrowed even further. “Why does it sound like saying that’s torture for him?” They slowly reached for a flip phone, flipping it open.

Fuck.

Koichi paled. “Jotaro-san, you don’t have to answer that-“

Kujo affixed them with a stare, filled with the horror and pain that only came from having a fundamental truth torn, ripping and screaming, out of one’s heart. “Because whenever I care about someone, I only pull them down with me. They’re only put in more danger, and all they get in the end is me. Because when I care about someone, it's an incentive for them to care back.”

All four of them paused, matching expressions of confusion and horror splayed all over their faces.

Rohan felt sick.

Not for the first time since this ordeal began, he wanted to travel back in time and slap himself for that stupid dare.

Kujo Jotaro’s greatest fear is being cared about.

After admitting it, any hint of fight in Kujo’s eyes had disappeared, and his legs seemed to buckle, forcing Rohan and Josuke to dive to catch him. Even the subtle twitch of his fingers had stopped, the muscles that lay tense in his body relaxing as Kujo gave up.

Adonis fell that day, gored on Truth’s tusks.

The bus shuddered to a stop, and Koichi stood up, trying to hide the shaking in his hands. “Well, it was nice meeting you…”

“Pandora.” They stared at Kujo. "Did something happen? Because that sounded important."

“Sorta. Rohan, Josuke, it’s our stop. We have to go.”

“...”

“Rohan?”