Chapter Text
A few days ‘after,’ Josuke gets an urge.
Maybe it’s not an ‘urge.’ That implies it comes from within, a desire bubbling up internally, strong enough to breach consciousness. No, what Josuke feels is more like a ‘calling.’ Something from outside of himself is imploring him.
Josuke has learned to be suspicious. But this calling… somehow, he knows it means no harm.
So, one evening the week after it all happened, Josuke lets his legs guide him to the calling’s destination, and, most likely, its source.
He sits down on the cliff that the Lone Pine clings to, holding his knees to his chest as he leans back against a particularly big root. He keeps his eyes ahead, watching over the twilight view of Morioh’s coast. From here, he can see to Lover’s Cape, the rocky shore, and even part of the harbor. On the horizon, long cirrus clouds catch the last reddish hues of sunset.
The autumn breeze is a little chilly, but feels so nice that Josuke has the idea to take his hat off; not something he usually likes to do, but before he can second-guess himself he plucks it from his head and lets the shore breeze tangle with his hair.
“Nice evening, yeah?”
The voice has an odd, accented drawl, but that doesn’t surprise Josuke at all. But then, he hears something: the pattern of two slow footsteps but also the thud of a cane on the dirt.
Eyes wide, he stands up and spins around in a whirl, stance tightening and hands raising as he’s about to bring out Soft & Wet, and-
The man standing before him is just that, a man, not a Stand, not the Head Doctor. He’s wearing a matching set of warm clothes that look like they’re meant for traveling, color-coordinated in white and blue with pale red and blue stars. Even his cane has a hand-painted star pattern. The cohesion of the look is only broken by a single accessory: a white sailor’s hat with blue stripes on top of the man’s knit cap. He looks to be about thirty years old, but at the same time, something about his appearance speaks to a timelessness Josuke can’t quite wrap his head around.
The man’s hand is raised, but he doesn’t seem alarmed at all. “Relax. I’m not your enemy.”
“S-sorry,” Josuke says, lowering his own hands. “Sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”
“It’s alright, I understand,” he responds, walking forwards to close the distance to the tree, before finally picking his cane up with both hands and leaning against the Lone Pine’s trunk. Then he shoots an amused look at Josuke, who is still standing awkwardly. “Sit back down, son. Don’t let me get between you and a nice view.”
Somewhat at a loss, Josuke sits back down, though he keeps the man in his field of vision. Not out of paranoia, now, but out of politeness- and curiosity.
Something about the man looks familiar. Well, several somethings. Beyond the hat, of course, and the fact that he looks identical to one Johnny Joestar; still, something about the way he looks, his face or his posture maybe, strikes a chord with Josuke…
“I’m proud of you, son.”
Josuke’s eyes widen. A fizzling warmth fills him, and he feels as though the energy might just lift him into the sky. The only thing he can think of, in that moment, is his mother: her eyes regarding him and, despite her illness, recognizing him as her son. Maybe as Yoshikage, but maybe not; yes, this warmth is the same warmth as the hope he’d had, then and now, that her recognition was of him as himself, as Josuke.
He thinks he understands. His left shoulder tickles, but rather than a premonition it’s a soft feeling, a recognition of a kindred spirit. Josuke may be this man’s descendant (of a kind), he may have been regarded by him as “son,” but blood is only part of the equation. Even more than that is the fate that has tied them together past tide and time, a fate that they have now both passed through to the other side of. Maybe the surmounting of that fate is how Josuke is now speaking to a man over a hundred years dead.
“Thank you, sir,” Josuke says, tipping his head down and holding his hat to his chest.
“Hey now, call me ‘sir’ again and I’ll flick your ear. It’s just ‘Johnny,’ got that? And I should be thanking you. You did what I couldn’t. Thank you, for cleaning up the bullshit I left behind.”
Josuke looks up at Johnny, then looks away just as quickly. Trying not to overthink it, he simply says, “You’re welcome.”
Johnny smiles. Then, holding his cane with one hand, he carefully lowers himself to a sitting position next to Josuke. He stretches out his legs, crossing one over the other.
“You’ve had a rough month. I’m here to tell you that it gets easier,” Johnny says after a couple moments.
Josuke stays silent at that.
“But you’re going to have to watch your back. Stand Users have… let’s call it ‘gravity.’ You’re never gonna stop bumping into each other. You’re strong; that means you have a lot of gravity. So you’re going to have to keep an eye out.”
“Are there… other rock humans?” Josuke asks after a moment. The possibility has crossed his mind many times over the past few days: of yet more allied rock humans, looking for answers and revenge.
Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. Rock humans or no, Stand Users are everywhere, and there’s only going to be more of them. Just keep an eye out; that’s all I meant.”
Josuke considers this. Johnny’s phrasing was careful, but Josuke suspects the man really doesn’t know exactly what’s coming in Josuke’s future.
“I’ll be careful,” he says.
“Good to hear it. But don’t let it eat you up, you get me? It’s your life, and now you’re free to live it. Enjoy it to the fullest.”
Josuke nods, then tilts his head thoughtfully. ‘Free’ is an odd word. He’s free from the rock humans hunting for Yoshikage and Josefumi, maybe, but not from danger… and not from obligation.
“Holy,” he says after a moment, turning to look Johnny in the eye. “Is there anything I can do?”
Johnny meets his gaze. “So long as my body is underneath this tree, the shrine can be used for equivalent exchange. You could take her place.”
Josuke holds eye contact, just for a moment, then raises his eyebrows. It’s clicked: he knows why Johnny looks familiar: he looks like him.
Not in body or face or posture, but in the eyes: looking at Johnny looking, he sees something that he’s only felt from the inside; he struggles to find the word for it. Inquiry? Determination? Intensity?
Josuke clenches his fists, then relents, and closes his eyes. “She wouldn’t want that.”
Even if she didn’t recognize him. Even if, in sound and clear mind, Holy would’ve turned away from him, dismissed him not as her son but as a stranger- something she never would have done, mind- she wouldn’t want him to give his life for hers.
He gives a bitter chuckle. He’s standing with the man who started the Higashikata tradition, after all: the parent sacrifices for their child, not the other way around.
“No, she wouldn’t want that,” Johnny echoes.
Josuke, to his surprise, sniffles. Then, he holds his hands up to his eyes and feels them watering. That’s it then, isn’t it? From the last time he saw Holy until now, he hadn’t known what to feel, hadn’t let the truth sink in. There’s no New Locacaca remaining, no miracles left. Now, with Johnny all but confirming it…
The tears finally come. Holy Joestar-Kira is not long for this world, and there is nothing left that Josuke can do.
“Come here, son…”
Johnny Joestar may be dead, but Josuke feels his arms around him all the same, and the tears fall. He’s a damn messy crier and he doesn’t give a damn. Johnny holds him, Josuke’s head on his shoulder, and they’re the only two people in the world.
“She was a doctor,” he says through his sobs. “She- she- she saved Yasuho, and Josefumi, and…”
“I know,” Johnny says softly, “I know. It’s not fair.”
Josuke doesn’t know how long it lasts, but at some point he realizes: he could never do this with Norisuke. They may have had their differences, but Josuke does see him as a father, and yet… he’d never cry on his shoulder. He just wouldn’t.
For one time only, he, a man who was never a child, is just a boy, held in the arms of family.
The time passes. He swallows hard, lets the moment last just a little longer, writes this feeling in his memory, deeply and for all-time, then pulls away. Once he does, Johnny takes his hat from his hands and puts it on his head, then pats his shoulder.
“I’ll- I’ll treasure it. The time she has left,” Josuke manages to say.
Johnny nods.
More moments pass in silence. Josuke, gaze distant, sees that the clouds on the horizon have turned a deep purple. The stars are coming out.
“I hate to be a sourpuss, but,” Johnny begins, and Josuke’s stomach seems to turn queasily, “You’re an adult now, with an ‘even score.’ You fought hard and dirty until now. In the future… try to keep your hands clean.”
Josuke tilts his head questioningly. Johnny returns the look through his eyelashes, unimpressed.
“The reporter?” he asks, not quite accusingly. “And others. But him most of all.”
Josuke gulps, and a burning feeling curdles in his stomach. Shame, he realizes. The man must’ve died, surely. In all the chaos, Josuke can’t even remember his name. That fact only fuels the burning.
…It’s like an exchange. He’d exchanged the man’s life, sent him straight into the voracious winds of calamity, just to get one step closer to the head doctor. Not even an equal exchange, at that.
He swallows again, then nods. “I… understand.”
Johnny gives him a small, sympathetic smile, but says nothing.
After a few moments of silence, the hot shame passes as if it were extinguished by the breeze. The salty ocean air tickles playfully at strands of Josuke’s hair, as if inviting him to dance along with the leaves on the Lone Pine’s twisted branches. He smiles, and tucks his hair back into his hat, politely declining the invitation.
A few minutes pass, just like that, Josuke and Johnny and the wind and the view, watching the stars come out. But some tension seems to rise, although Josuke can barely sense it, as if time itself is growing a little impatient. So, Josuke isn’t surprised at all by what Johnny says next.
“Now, one last thing before I go,” Johnny announces, then makes to stand up; Josuke hurriedly stands himself so that he can offer a hand. Johnny cracks a smile in… amusement? But he takes Josuke’s hand nonetheless.
“What is it?” Josuke asks, wondering what pearl of wisdom Johnny Joestar might have saved for the end of their talk.
Johnny stays silent, and, leaning slightly on his cane, looks east, where the lights of ships dot the horizon, mirroring the stars in the clear sky.
“Your friend Yasuho. She’s nice; you should marry her.”
Blinking and utterly confused, Josuke turns back to Johnny, who is now wearing a shit-eating grin.
“I, uh, I-” Josuke stammers, “Yeah, she’s nice, I’ll uh- I’ll think about it…”
Johnny laughs; it’s an odd laugh, a mischievous nyo-ho-ho, and something tells Josuke that he’s quite privileged to have heard it.
“Good. You do that,” Johnny says, then gives a mock two-fingered salute. Josuke returns the gesture; Johnny nods, and, unspoken, Josuke averts his gaze. The view of land and sea fills his vision, and though he hears no footsteps, he knows Johnny is gone.
Josuke doesn’t look back quite yet, watching the shore. In the dark, he can’t see the beach, can’t make out the exact line where the sea becomes the land. And with the ship lights in the ocean amidst the reflected constellations, neither can he quite discern sea from sky. From above to below, it’s stars, just stars.
Then, a shooting star streaks overhead, pointing from land to sea as if racing east at full gallop. The stars seem to twinkle in envy of the blazing-bright racer even as it fades; with the blurred horizon lines he can’t tell if it burned itself out or crossed out of sight past the curve of the Earth.
Josuke turns around to head back to the house. He half expects to see the meteor in the west, having made a complete rotation of the world, but indistinct clouds on the horizon obscure his view.
That’s okay. He’s in no rush to meet again soon; he’s got a life to get living.