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This wasn’t right.
Jotaro had lost track of how many people they had fought. He used to count it on his fingers, but now he knew it served no point. He’d overheard Kakyoin once saying that he kept a record of how many people they had come across in his sketchbook, but Kakyoin wasn’t here anymore. Kakyoin was at a hospital in whatever fucking town they had last been in, and Jotaro was miles away from where they once were, trying not to throw up because this wasn’t right.
Dragging other people into family matters never ended well for him. A teacher once asked him where his father was when he was a kid. It only resulted in several calls made to Holly from the school about some bullshit about “child neglect.” He didn’t mean to drag everyone here like this. This wasn’t what he wanted.
His knuckles still felt raw and bloody from earlier that day, though he was sure that he had washed off all the blood hours ago. Anxiety spiked his movements as he rolled over once again and could feel Star’s aura trying to jump out at the thought of danger.
He thought about letting him out. Maybe his stand was really good at giving hugs? He wouldn’t know. He barely ever let the thing out (of his own free will, at least,) and he could barely stand to look at him after battles.
Maybe he just felt guilty.
Beating someone up or landing them in the hospital was different. There wasn’t that air of guilt that came with it that was the same as actually taking a life.
He knew he had yet to actually kill someone, but...he knew the time was growing nearer. And he didn’t want to think about whether or not he’d be too cowardly to do it when the time came.
Joseph snored louder, and Jotaro could physically feel the bags under his eyes growing heavier. This is bullshit. He could barely even remember a silent night since he started rooming with the old man. He preferred being alone, but at least the others didn’t fucking snore so loud.
Maybe he should sleep. It would be good to sleep. Everyone else was doing it, maybe he should just—
—This wasn’t right.
Something in his chest tightened. He found that no matter what he did these days...if he wasn’t fighting, if he wasn’t doing something useful, his mind kept screaming at him; this wasn’t right.
It wasn’t. He shouldn’t be closing his eyes, not even for a minute. He couldn’t afford to rest. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not while they were so close. Not while his mom only had a week.
He tried to shut his eyes again, but nothing but irritation and restlessness settled beneath his skin. He fought the urge to take something in his hands and crush it as he felt the grip in his clenched fists start to shake with—rage? Fear?
Jotaro wasn’t supposed to be afraid.
He winced at the newly established pain in his chest. He couldn’t tell if the cramps grappling at his stomach were because of skipping dinner earlier or something else entirely. Either way, he felt like he was going to be sick.
He needed to get the hell out of here.
He never imagined a place like Egypt to be so beautiful. Peaceful, sure, but Avdol wasn’t kidding when he said that something was charming about the way the moon reflected off the sand and the stars somehow seemed to shine brighter.
He used to imagine coming somewhere beautiful like this on vacation when he was older. Still, he doubted that he would ever be able to stomach coming back here again. That is if he made it that far.
The awful feeling in his chest worsened, and he hastily shut the door to his hotel room, eager to feel the fresh air on his face.
His hand gripped the railing shakily, and he found it was getting harder and harder for him to catch his breath. He could feel how on-edge Star was, but he couldn’t say anything reassuring to him. Not when he had a good reason to be on guard.
Panic gripped at his throat as he weakly pushed the doors open and finally got a hint of the midnight breeze. The woman at the front desk behind him was asleep in her chair, and he shut the door behind him quietly.
The fresh air helped, but not by much.
Jotaro slumped against the wall, crossing his bare arms over his chest. He really wished he hadn’t forgotten his coat. He couldn’t risk waking up the old man; he could already hear the are you okay?’s and the whole lecture about how he’s always here to talk.
Like hell, he wanted to talk about any of this. They all knew what they were here for. There wasn't any need for discussion— he didn’t want to cry in front of his grandpa.
God, his fucking hands hurt. Everything hurt. Inconvenient. Emotions swelled inside of him, and he shivered. He refused to be sick—if just the thought of murder was enough to make him like this, he must really be pathetic.
He wasn’t supposed to be pathetic, either.
A million thoughts raced through his head at once—more than he could count. He could feel his heart in his throat. He wondered if Dio had a heartbeat, too. He tried to imagine what it would feel like grabbing it with his fists and—
“My, my...Jotaro Kujo without his hat and his coat? A rare sight indeed.”
His thoughts were ripped away from him as a familiar voice called out to him, not too far away. He couldn’t help but crack a small smile amid the thoughts swarming in his head as he realized who it was.
“What, you think I fucking sleep in it?” he smirked. His voice sounded too raw, he knew it did, but his friend didn’t seem to notice.
Polnareff sauntered over, a blanket hanging over his shoulder and his bag dragging at his feet. Jotaro unclenched his fists and tried to stop them from shaking.
“Sorry for startling you,” the man spoke wistfully, “You looked pretty lost in thought when I came out here.”
Jotaro frowned. Did he? The last thing he wanted to do was let his guard down. What was he even doing out here?
“Joestar finally getting too much for you?” Polnareff slid down next to him and started rummaging through his bag. Jotaro shrugged.
“Man snores like a fucking bear,” he grumbled, turning to him, “Avdol finally snap and kick you out?”
Polnareff laughed and shook his head. “He’s been less of a prude lately, to be honest. Went through half my pack while I was in the shower.”
Avdol was worried about things, too. They all must be at this point. He wondered if they thought about Dio’s heartbeat, too.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Polnareff was still talking, but Jotaro couldn’t focus on what he was saying. A breeze blew past them and his hands felt numb. Uneasiness stuck to him like sickening humidity and he closed his eyes, swallowed, breathed.
“You doing alright? You don’t look too good.”
He opened his eyes again and tried to avoid Polnareff’s icy blue gaze. The man inched closer to him, and Jotaro realized that he had somehow lit a cigarette between his lips between now and the last time he had paid attention.
“Fine,” he muttered, snatching the pack out of Polnareff’s hand, “Just cold.”
He heard a sound of indignance that he didn’t typically hear when they smoked together but paid no mind to it until Polnareff grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Listen, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he warned him.
But Jotaro was already fiddling with the pack and shaking out one to put between his lips and trying to stop his hands from shaking because— shit, his hands were shaking again. His breath caught in his throat as he fumbled around blindly for his lighter, and he felt sweat drip numbly down his forehead as he tried and failed to get the flame strong enough in the desert breeze.
“It’s not good to have one of those on an empty stomach, you know,” he spoke again, “I couldn’t find my usual stuff, so this is the really strong stuff, kid.”
It’s fine, I’ll be fucking fine, he thought to snap back, but the cigarette was already lit, and he didn’t think he could trust his voice right now anyway.
He expected his growing nerves to be calmed almost immediately. He regretted even lighting it after the first desperate inhale.
Fuck. He was actually going to be fucking sick.
An awful feeling filled his lungs and throat, overriding the tightness in his chest, and he doubled over, coughing. He felt the cigarette fall beside him, but he was too busy trying not to throw up for real this time. Tears sprouted instinctively into the corners of his eyes, and he grabbed at his chest through his sweat-covered shirt.
His ribs hurt, but he couldn’t remember who he had fought who had injured them. Saliva pooled into his mouth, and he covered it with one shaking hand, heaving forward. Nothing came up because—Jesus, of course, nothing came up. When was the last time he had eaten something?
His heart was beating faster and faster in his ear and it only reminded him of—
He pitched forward again, and this time there was a warm hand on his back, grounding him from whatever fate he had put himself through. The breeze made the tears in his eyes feel cold and he tried to blink them away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I told you, dum-dum. Having one of these on an empty stomach isn’t good for you.”
Jotaro bit back the urge to tell him that nothing about nicotine was good for them, but he could still barely breathe.
“How did you know that I-” he finally choked out, pausing to catch his breath again. He flicked away the cigarette in disgust, leaning his head into the cold brick wall behind him.
“You skipped dinner tonight. And normally I wouldn’t care so much, but we didn’t exactly have lunch today, either.”
Jotaro frowned. “Why do you—”
“—Because I’m your friend, and I care about you,” he interrupted stubbornly, “Friends notice things, Jotaro. I know you like to think of yourself as a closed book and all, but everyone can tell when something’s bugging you.”
Jotaro reached to pull his hat down, but he found that it wasn’t there. Shit.
“Take this if you’re so cold,” Pol tossed him the blanket that was once hanging from his shoulder and opened up his bag again. Jotaro wrapped it around himself and felt himself deflate underneath it. The scent of it was comforting.
“Remember to bring your coat out next time,” the man muttered, partly in amusement. Jotaro tried to hide the shakiness in his breath, but by the way Polnareff looked so guilty, he knew it wasn’t working.
He could barely even look the man in the eyes, and when he finally did, Polnareff was holding something out to him...a paper bag?
“I know you just dry-heaved in front of me for five minutes, but I swiped some falafel for you, in case you got hungry later tonight,” he paused, chuckling, “Guess I was pretty spot on, huh?”
Jotaro stared in mild distaste at the bag. It had been hours; they had to be cold by now. He wasn’t even sure if he could stomach it now. But Polnareff looked so determined...and the feeling gnawing at his stomach had yet to go away.
He opened it up, and the smell of spices trapped in the bag finally escaped, flooding his senses. His stomach growled, and Polnareff laughed.
“Eat it,” he urged, “It’ll get your strength back up.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heartbeat grew faster and he grabbed one without much thought, anything to make that fucking noise go away.
Taking a small bite out of it, he felt a rush of something. It felt like adrenaline, but not the kind that he’d had in a fight. It only made his limbs feel weaker, but he popped the rest into his mouth. He grabbed another and his hands felt hot.
“Good, right?”
Pol smiled and said something in praise, lightly punching his shoulder. Jotaro’s face felt hot as he grabbed another; the bag seemed endless. The manic energy coming back to his veins caused his mind to race again.
“I’m not just cold.”
He didn’t even know what he was blurting out until the falafel piece in his hand was already being swallowed. The smile on Polnareff’s face faltered.
“I know.”
He knew that new tears were sprouting into his eyes, but he found that they were too strong for him to try and blink away this time. Another falafel was out of his hand. He reached into the bag again.
“I’m scared,” he breathed out, “I’m fucking scared and there’s nothing I can do about it. I still have to kill him. I still have to—”
He choked on his words and the significant amount of food in his mouth. He swallowed hard. Polnareff wrapped an arm around him, running a hand through his hair.
“I know.”
He stared down at his hands, trembling. He could barely see through his clouded vision, but he thought he could see just the slightest bit of blood stained on them. Could he murder someone? Could he actually do it?
His hands shook as he dropped the last two falafels back into the bag, and his arms went limp beside him. Closing his eyes, he gave up what tight control over himself that he had left and soon felt tears flooding down his face.
This time, they were hot.
“I don’t—” he breath hitched, “I don’t think I can do it. How the hell am I supposed to-”
He vigorously wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and brought his knees up to his chest. He really, really wished he had his hat right now.
His breath hitched again, and Polnareff looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just opened up his arms and gave him a look that screamed sympathy. Jotaro didn’t even know what he was doing until his head hit the man’s chest and he felt himself let out a long, drawn-out sob.
“It’s really damn hard. I know. I’m sorry,” he said gently, sounding a little choked up himself, “God, I’d give anything for someone as young as you to not get dragged into this shit.”
Jotaro wanted to bite back and tell him that he might as well be just as young as him, too, but his voice felt too raw from crying now. He bit back a sob and dug his hands into the man’s back.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Polnareff ran a hand up and down his back, leaning them both into the support of the wall behind him, “I know it's hard to let your guard down, but you have to every once in a while. That’s what I learned while traveling on my own.”
Jotaro nodded, head still buried under Polnareff’s warm arms. The man snorted quietly and grabbed the blanket that had since been forgotten on the ground beside them and draped it back over his friend’s shoulders.
“You don’t have to do this on your own,” he reminded him, “We’re all here for the same reason. Don’t put all of this on your shoulders, alright? Promise me.”
He heard an inaudible mumble come from below him and bit back a laugh, ruffling his hair. He opened his mouth to joke about how uncomfortable the ground was, but decided to leave it for another day.
Jotaro sighed heavily and leaned further into warmth. His face felt sticky, and he could feel the curls at the front of his head sticking to his face, but he didn’t bother to unwrap his arms and fix it.
Polnareff’s heartbeat filled his ears, and he felt his own match up with it. Something about hearing another one blocked out hearing his own. Or maybe it was because they were both merged together now. He didn’t feel as freaked out. He felt...okay.
He would be okay.
When he awoke again, he was in Polnareff’s bed being smothered by Iggy, Polnareff was in Avdol’s bed, and Avdol was just now coming to the realization that he was on the floor.
Amid the friendly chaos that was about to come, he let his eyes close one more. He tuned himself out to the bickering being heard in the background, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, finally let his guard down.