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It was over. Finally, after what had been quite literal days, the fight was over, and they'd won. Thank fuck for the kid, his quick thinking and borrowed stand saved the entire universe. And now the priest was down, electrocuted, shot, thoroughly pummelled until he was no more than a bloodied pulp of a corpse?
They could breathe easy. They could rest.
Jotaro hardly recognised his own body shutting down as he collapsed into the water, nor did he hear his daughter's horrified screams, begging him to wake up. He couldn't see the tears stream down her face as she clutched at hands that couldn't feel her desperate grip. He was unaware of the tender way Hermes guided her away, their tiny friend clutching her hand in his; a mirror of the way Jolyne's tiny hand used to fit in Jotaro's. He didn't, couldn't, protest the way Anasui gracefully heaved his body from the water, striding purposefully toward the bay.
He couldn't take a moment of peace to relax, take in the wonders of marine life around him. It was a shame, really; the marshes always had such interesting specimens.
And then he woke up. A week since time stopped hurtling forward, since his precious baby girl had saved the world with her ragtag team of friends. She was by his side, cuddled up against him on the hospital bed, hand on his heart. She was sleeping peacefully, and Jotaro wouldn't disturb that for the world.
And then there was the rest of the world. Everywhere had gone to shit thanks to DIO's damned diary and his crazed fanatic follower, and even despite the Speedwagon Foundation's best efforts, it was all they could do to keep the Joestar descendants and their friends safe. Jolyne's mother was flown in the moment they could make contact with her, and despite his more than rocky relationship with the woman, for Jolyne's sake, he'd be on his best behaviour with Marisol.
Passione were in contact only hours after Marisol's arrival, confirming the status of things across the pond, and Jotaro was quickly informed that Polnareff, the accident-prone fool he was, had come out of the near end of the world entirely unscathed. Breathing felt just a little easier after that.
Holly and Josuke called two weeks after the events of Made In Heaven; things were a lot better in Japan than in America, but to keep tabs on each other Josuke and Okuyasu were staying with Holly for the near future. Things had been rough, they said, but with a stand as kind as Josuke's, there were no major casualties, just a lot of shock.
Joseph called a month after the final showdown. He was still in New York, along with Shizuka and even great granma Lisa Lisa, who'd appeared out of nowhere just as time began accelerating. Hamon had been their friend; apparently, they'd kept all their fresh produce ripe with the technique, so they were still comfortable without needing the SPW's support. The old man was damn smug about it.
They went home a month, two days, twelve hours after the world stopped speeding. He, and Jolyne, and their new motley crew of friends. Even the priest's brother, a quiet man who seemed nothing like the crazed fanatic twin Jotaro had met, was alive and around to accompany them. Jotaro just hoped they didn't mind sleeping on the floor for a while.
The Speedwagon minivan pulled up outside the oh so familiar Florida residence - Jotaro wasn't even sure why the SPW had minivans, but he was glad for whoever had suggested that over flying in. It was almost surreal, being back home after at least six months away. His poor fish.
The house didn't smell of dust, or mold, or forgotten dishes or rotting fishes. It just smelled like home. Of his favourite laundry pods and of fruity air freshener. It didn't look vacant either; everything had been tidied, and Jotaro knew he wasn't the one to do it. While Jolyne and co raided the cupboards to find anything non-perishable, Jotaro ventured into the house, in search of his fish, his pride and joy, in his bedroom. He was slower, walked with a cane, and fumbled at his own door with his messed up depth perception, but he found his way in eventually.
'Hey, Jojo,'
Oh.
Noriaki.
His Noriaki.
The bastard who no doubt convinced the SPW to pretend they hadn't heard from him, dramatic fucker.
'I've missed you, ocean boy,'
And he could breathe easy. He could rest.