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“Good fucking grief, Polnareff. Stop worrying, I’ll be alright.”
It’s a lie.
It’s a lie because Jotaro’s currently at risk of bleeding out vis-a-vis the sword wound in his gut. That’s a bit of a worry. He’s been burnt, shot, nigh-drowned and nearly induced a brain haemorrhage from rage before (fuck you Steely Dan), but being impaled is a first. Maybe, if they survive, he’ll get one of those doctors’ charts you point to the pain on, fill it in.
To his credit, Polnareff got him good. Possessed or not, he’d nearly beaten Star Platinum in a straight fight. Only Avdol has managed that before, and even then only when he hadn’t a damn clue about anything and had played for small stakes. Jotaro knew what he was doing now, knew how to play the game, knew what he was playing for, and the Frenchman still damn near won. If the jackal stand hadn’t got confident, if it had been Polnareff in control…a judge couldn’t have called it, he knew that at least.
It was scary. He was damn glad Polnareff was on their side.
“-my god, Jotaro, you are impaled , don’t tell me you’re okay you’re going to die oh my god I’ve killed my best friend-
Jotaro inhales.
Ah. There’s that brain haemorrhage again.
- — -
The hotel room they find isn’t winning any awards for hospitality. The beds were built for people a third his size, judging by the pain in his forehead the doorframe was too, and Star picked up on the smell before they even walked in. But it was clean, or as clean as they were gonna get, and when you’re somewhat holding your insides inside you…beggars can’t be choosers. The receptionist had taken one look at Joseph and started counting foreigner tax, but Avdol had smoothed it over. He thinks. It wasn’t so easy to focus while they were bringing him in.
Especially since he was focusing on what happens now.
Joseph had gone out, fighting with the receptionist again, demanding Iggy be allowed to stay with them despite him being the last animal Jotaro would ever willingly let into any semblance of polite society, if he had the power to. Polnareff had produced some excuse about finding some beers. That just left him, Avdol, and a remarkably painful immediate future.
“Jotaro, please roll onto your back and pull your shirt up.”
Grunting, he slackens his elbow and drops, faster than he’d planned to. The springs ( in name only, and certainly not in function) strike his back, and for a moment he’s in Pakistan, in a hotel that wasn’t a hotel, buried under zombies that punch and kick and-
He’s in a different hotel. With Avdol, and everyone else nearby.
Well. Nearly everyone.
“I’m going to use Magician’s Red to cauterise the wound. Once it’s cauterised, Mr. Joestar can use the Ripple to restore the tissue damage. Jotaro, be warned: this will be incredibly painful. I would recommend biting down on something.”
He nods, grunting, and has Star fetch a towel from the bathroom. In front of Polnareff or the shitty old man, he might put on airs, refuse, but he doesn’t need to if it’s just Avdol. He doesn’t need to play up the tough guy persona around him.
(Kakyoin could see past it from day 1.)
The air crackles and his skin tingles, and Magician’s Red stands in front of him. Back when he’d first seen it, in a jail cell in Tokyo so long ago, it had been hard to take it seriously: a burning chicken-man wasn’t nearly as impressive as Star Platinum, in his unbiased opinion. But he’d lost his first fight to it, stand or no stand. Even now…it must be the old man’s luck, that all the stand users that can actually challenge him were on their side instead. Even the damn dog might get him if it tried.
Magician’s Red cocks its head, then raises its hands to its face. Two small embers spurt from its beak, and in a second those hands are ablaze. It brings them to just above his wound, and Jotaro hikes his school uniform up a bit more. Just in case. Last time he got it repaired, it wasn’t cheap.
Huh. Last time it needed repaired was also from being incinerated.
“Are you ready?”
He’s felt its fire before, even though it was holding back for most of that encounter. He has a general idea of what was coming. The answer is no, not in the slightest. He brings the towel to his mouth.
“Yeah.”
Fuck.
It burns. It burns, it burns, it burns, and it’s all he can do to keep biting down, keep gritting his teeth, not scream. Kujo Jotaro doesn’t scream, but fuck he wants to. It’s hot, too hot, and the sweat is already pouring out. He chances a look down, sees what looks like steam, and allows his eyes to unfocus from the pain instead of staring further. Fuck . It hurts, it hurts so bad, and he wants to get away from it, even though it’s keeping him alive, even though he needs to be seen burning, even though that damn driver needs to believe-
“JOTARO!”
It’s stopped, now. His gut sears, but the hands are gone now, they’re off him, he’s free-
“JOTARO!”
He’s not in Pakistan-
“ JOTARO! ”
His eyes snap up. Star Platinum has Avdol’s throat.
He tries to desummon him, but it’s harder, takes more focus, and instead of slipping into nothingness Star remains lurking just beneath his skin. Avdol falls back to the ground, coughing, spluttering. They stay like that for a moment. Not looking at each other.
“I-”
“You-”
Another moment. He lets Avdol break it this time.
“Are you sure you’re okay to do this, Jotaro?”
“Yeah. Star just got a bit protective, is all. I’ll be alright.”
It’s a lie.
It’s a lie because it hurts, it hurts so much, and he doesn’t want it to hurt. He doesn’t want to be here , in the middle of the damn desert, impaled by a fucking sword . He doesn’t want to be fighting a battle for his life every other damn day. But he is, and he’s here, and it’s been over a month, and there’s no point in making a big deal out of it because Kujo Jotaro is many things but selfish is not one of them. Everyone else has sacrificed more for this. He can deal with his share of the pain.
“Alright then. Shall I resume?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck .
- — -
Half an hour later, when the pain has just about subsided providing he keeps it open to the air and he’s no longer in danger of spilling his guts over his ¥200,000 pants, the door bursts open.
“I found some bee-JOTARO C’EST QUOI CE BORDEL!?”
Kujo Jotaro does not smile. Kujo Jotaro has never smiled. Nobody would ever suggest there was one at the corners of his mouth now, because Kujo Jotaro doesn’t smile.
“Good fucking grief.”
- — -
The hotel, luckily, is run by intelligent people, who outright refuse to allow Iggy into the building. Joseph sneaks him in anyway, but the mutt can’t be trusted to keep quiet the whole night, so he has to arrange for a separate room in a completely different hotel. They’re going to sleep the night and keep going in the morning, so Jotaro has time to recover.
(“All this spending isn’t earning me any favours with the Speedwagon Foundation, let me assure you. If I hadn’t known Uncle Speedwagon personally, they’d have us on the street!”)
Joseph has Hermit Purple wrapped around Jotaro’s chest from the other side of the room, using it to transmit a constant, low-level wave of Ripple energy directly into Jotaro’s wound. It’s almost soothing, but occasionally it finds an exposed nerve and Jotaro has to consciously prevent himself from twinging, so he can’t get too comfortable.
(A single twitch of the finger and Kakyoin dies.)
The sunset shines into the room through the bathroom mirror, but nobody’s tired yet. One of the benefits nobody talks about when it comes to living on your feet and constantly being attacked at all hours of the day is that you learn to sleep light and quick.
Instead, they’re drinking. Polnareff brought the kind of beer that’s just shitty enough to be tolerable, and he bought in bulk. It should hopefully last them the week. There’s some cigarettes in the bag as well, but it’s probably not a good idea to mix death on a stick with concentrated life energy, so he holds off.
For now. He was stabbed today, he’s having a smoke later.
Now, though…it’s quiet. Peaceful. Joseph’s recounting war stories to Polnareff, Avdol’s staring out the window, and Iggy’s napping on the other bed. Lucky thing that hotels provide chairs: nobody’s quite willing to risk sitting on it with him.
Damn dog.
“Okay, non non non . An Aztec god put a wedding ring …INSIDE you? AND it was made of poison? Monsieur, you lie to me.”
“It happened! Avdol, tell him it happened.”
“As strange as the story seems, Polnareff, I believe it.”
“SEE?”
“Eh? Mon ami, you believe him?”
“I am a fortune-teller, Polnareff. It’s my trade to discern the truth. Though the story may be incredible, I hold no belief that it is false.”
“ Incroyable . Jotaro, do you believe this?”
“Eh?”
“Your grandfather was attempting to sell me a story completely unbelievable. He claims that, in his youth, he battled vampire gods, two of which inserted wedding rings of poison within his throat. Utterly false, no?”
Ah. That story. He’d heard it before, always when the old man was drunk. It had always sounded bizarre. Even when he’d been the age to believe the lies adults told to seem cool, he’d taken it too far, been too insistent about it. Maybe it was a favourite story, or an elaborate ruse. But now…
“Eh, why not.”
“YES! Jotaro, you’ve been promoted to favourite grandson.”
“Good fucking grief. I’m your only grandson, you old geezer.
“Por quoi?”
“Well, we know vampires exist, for a start. And Stands are real as well, as is the Ripple. If you can accept all that, doesn’t really make much sense to differentiate over something like this.”
“...I have been abandoned. You have all gone insane, and left me to fend for myself.”
It’s been a long day. It isn’t a smile, but…he can let some humour out.
“Wait until he gets to how he lost his hand.”
“That’s related?!”
“Oh, it was lost in a horrible Kars crash! Now, back to the matter at hand. So, me and Caesar-”
Jotaro takes another sip from his beer. It’s ghastly. But it’s better than nothing.
- — -
The Ripple treatment works. At least, insofar as he hoped it would. The wound still hurts , because of course it does. But it’s sealed, and he can walk around without hurting it further. There’s no direct pain anymore, just an ache. He even ran out of exposed nerve endings for it to fuck with him with. He’s experienced it a couple of times before, and it’s never fun, but beyond first-aid kits it’s all they’ve got.
Joseph and Polnareff leave after half an hour. They need to scope out the new hotel room, because it’s on the other side of town and they can’t be too careful. If push comes to shove, one group will need to get to the other at speed: maps need to be drawn, routes planned, contingencies made. It’s become routine at this point. Nearly two months they’ve been on the road now, and Jotaro can’t remember a single stop along the way they couldn’t grab and go within 5 minutes.
Actually, no. The cruise ship, and Strength. And the planes. And the submarine. And the ghost town. Aside from those, though, Joseph always makes sure they can run as quick as possible.
Avdol’s still with him, though. Iggy is as well, though he’s still passed out on the bed. The damn dog is the only one of them that sleeps like a human. Jotaro’s almost jealous.
He reaches into the bag, grabs a cigarette. Avdol tilts his head, and he extends it towards him. A snap of his fingers, and it’s lit. Jotaro nods his appreciation, then takes a drag. Polnareff didn’t skimp on these, at least.
The smoke alarm looks purely ornamental, but to avoid unnecessary hassle Jotaro sends Star Platinum to open up the window. He’s met with a breeze cool enough to have been welcome an hour ago, and the fact he forgot to open it before getting cauterized annoys him. He grunts, turning away from it. The night air in Japan is warmer, more humid. It hangs, placid, sluggish. Here, it whips into you if you aren’t careful.
Kujo Jotaro is careful.
Avdol is watching him. He can feel it, has always been able to feel eyes on his skin. There’s a conversation coming. Maybe about earlier, maybe about something else. Whatever it is, Jotaro doesn’t want to have it.
He takes another drag from his cigarette. The smoke billows through the mosquito guard, out into the night sky.
“Jotaro…”
There it is.
“What.”
It’s abrupt, yes, but he doesn’t want to talk. He never wants to talk much, much to Joseph’s annoyance, but he especially doesn’t want to talk now.
“I was wondering. Would you be willing to indulge me in something?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“On what.”
“A tarot reading.”
Jotaro’s head turns. Sure enough, Avdol’s holding a tarot deck. He has no idea where he got it from.
He moves to roll his eyes, to blurt out an answer that would no doubt be ruder than intended, to get back to his cigarette, and as his eyes travel up from the deck they meet Avdol’s. Sees the concern in them.
He falters.
Because Jotaro likes Avdol.
He and the dog have reached a tenuous ceasefire. The jury’s still out on Joseph, even if he’s warming up to the old man. And he does like Polnareff, but he’s…Polnareff. He’s loud and proud and cares about girls and boisterous and generally everything that Jotaro isn’t . That they’re friends regardless is a testament to his character, but…he’s a lot, a lot of the time.
(Kakyoin isn’t with them anymore.)
Avdol…Avdol’s just there . Always understanding, always with some wisdom to share, always willing to hear out his ideas. He’s a rock, someone stable, always a friendly face. He’s tough, and smart, and doesn’t tolerate stupid shit. Jotaro likes him.
Seeing concern in his eyes means there’s something to be concerned about. He could ignore it if it were Joseph or Polnareff. But not if it’s Avdol. If Avdol’s concerned, and this is how he’s showing that, then it’ll be worth it.
“...sure.”
- — -
Avdol asks him if he wants to cut, and Jotaro says no. He trusts him not to hustle him. But, right as he’s putting the cards down, just as he’s blinking, Jotaro has Star swap the top card with the bottom. Star’s getting better at that, lately, at moving in the seconds between perception, faster than anyone can quite see. Polnareff gave him the lecture about calling your stand ‘invincible’ a long time ago, but he’s quite proud of Star’s precision nonetheless.
Avdol makes a strange face at him, and Jotaro can’t quite tell if he picked up on the trick, before he splays the deck across the table between them.
“Choose six.”
Ah. Pointless, then.
He still taps the one that ended up on top of the pile first. The one in the middle next, and two adjacent ones on the right after that. Each time, Avdol slides the card half-forward with practiced ease. He selects one to the left, that landed at a funny angle. Finally, he reaches out with Star and selects the final one in the row, the one he swapped from the top.
Avdol sweeps the rest off the table, managing to land them perfectly stacked in his hand, then arranges the cards in the order he selected them in.
“The first card represents what’s behind you.”
A man in red robes. A table. Infinity above his head. The Magician.
Avdol chuckles.
“I should hope I’m not quite behind you yet. But, regardless…you possess a sense of purpose. The willpower to get things done. You can think on your feet, and adapt to what you can’t take on directly. I’m hardly surprised.”
Jotaro nods to himself. He doesn’t entirely believe in tarot, even if he can believe in stands and vampires and the old man’s ramblings. But he does believe Avdol.
The second card is turned over. A nude woman, bent over a pond. Lights in the sky above her. The Star.
Avdol chuckles again, and Jotaro almost joins in.
“I haven’t tampered with these, I swear. This card represents what you want. For the Star…a happy ending. Some good fortune, a bright future ahead of you. A boon.”
And doesn’t that just hit the nail on the head.
Jotaro sits up in his chair slightly, staring down at the woman on the card. On his card.
“An understandable goal. We could all use a bit of fortune right now. Specifically, combined with the Magician…you’ll make your own luck. Even when the world seems against you, even when things are hopeless…you’ll pull yourself through.”
He nods. Sounds about right.
“This one represents what you fear.”
Avdol lifts the third card, and Jotaro’s skin feels warm again. A circle, covered in symbols he doesn’t know the meaning of. Wheel Of Fortune.
He isn’t burning. He’s in a hotel in Kom Ombo.
“A turn for the worst. Bad luck, calamity…illness.”
Avdol says that part quietly.
“You fear the worst, that nothing good will come to pass. Specifically, you fear that for all your actions, you won’t do enough. You won’t be able to accomplish what you need to, or won’t make it in time. But, just as the wheel spins down against you, it will spin back up again. Bad fortune becomes good fortune becomes bad fortune again. The cycle will continue beyond this stage.”
Jotaro has stopped meeting Avdol’s eyes.
“This card represents what you have on your side.”
Two sphinxes, one black, one white. A man behind them, in regal attire. The Chariot.
They both snort.
“Of course.”
“The Chariot represents drive. It represents a lack of quitting, of battles won, of success through hardship. The road will not be easy, but it has an end. For you, it’s much the same as the standard definition. Keep going, keep pushing, and you’ll succeed. Also…Polnareff may make a good ally in the coming week.”
Jotaro takes another drag, and sighs to himself. Good fucking grief.
“This card represents what is working against you.”
Two pillars, one black, one white. A woman between them, in robes, wearing a weird-looking hat. The moon at her feet. The High Priestess.
“Insecurity. Hesitance, indecision, unwillingness to commit. For you…perhaps some from you, but perhaps more from your enemies. In my opinion, your fortune so far favours the head-on approach: your enemies may retreat from you, or battle you indirectly instead of directly. Either way, you must break through it.”
He nods. Good to know.
Avdol reaches down to the final card, the one Jotaro messed with.
“This final card represents the outcome.”
Avdol flips it with a little bit of extra flourish. Jotaro doesn’t care, but he imagines it’s a habit of the trade rather than a direct decision.
He doesn’t say anything, for a long time. He just looks down at the card. His mouth moves, as if trying to formulate an idea, but nothing comes out.
A stone pillar, struck by lightning. Two bodies falling from the sky. The Tower.
“...how bad is it?”
“Jotaro…”
Avdol stops. Starts again. Stops. Takes a breath. Composes himself.
“I’m sorry.”
- — -
“The Tower symbolises despair and destruction. At best, dramatic change and upheaval. At worst…what people think of when they see the Death tarot. In your case…whatever happens, it will be drastic. It will be hard. It will be painful. Ultimately, it may be beneficial…but there is a chance you may not even live to see it.”
Jotaro takes another drag. Nods. Looks out at the street, at the river, at the stars in the sky. Steels himself. Tries to steel himself.
“But…The Tower is working against you. It tells you things will end in calamity. Even as a prediction of the future…you have the Magician, and the Star. You can still make your own luck. It may not offset what is to come…but it may be enough.”
It’s cold in this room. He’s shivering.
“Jotaro…are you going to be alright?”
“Good fucking grief. What’s with everyone asking me that today? I’ll be alright.”
It’s a lie.
It’s a lie because the date is January the 9th. There’s one week left. One week left of his mother’s life, one week left to find and kill DIO. He still has at least 5 agents at his disposal, plus that bastard Hol Horse apparently, and there’s every chance of more. Not even considering the bastard himself. 7 enemies, at the bare minimum. It’s a lie because there’s absolutely no fucking way he can pull this off.
He’s shivering too much. Avdol doesn’t need to see that.
But Avdol is already seeing it, and he’s moving, and before Jotaro can raise a hand in objection his arm is around his shoulders. He’s warm, in a way that staves off the night cold, and Jotaro feels himself sinking into his embrace despite it all.
Neither of them say anything, for a long time. Jotaro takes another drag, then thumbs the embers and flicks the butt into the bin.
- — -
The decision is called, and Avdol and Polnareff take point on the other hotel room, in case Jotaro’s injury gets disturbed in the night and Joseph’s Ripple is needed. He calls it a dumb decision, but none of them are having it, especially Polnareff.
Iggy is the only one on his side. It takes ten minutes, a bar of soap, and a particularly inventive combination of Silver Chariot and Hermit Purple to get him off the bed. As Avdol leaves, small furry ball of angry, sandy death in his arms, he gives Jotaro a nod. It takes Star all of two minutes to find them: the Magician and the Star, tucked inside his replacement hat. Jotaro’s almost impressed.
Joseph turns out the light, and Jotaro rolls onto his opposite side. Another night in a dingy hotel room, on a mattress that could fill in for a wooden beam at a shortstaffed barn. When he gets home, he’s sleeping for a week.
The fucking Tower. If Tower Of Grey hadn’t ended up on their plane, they might have already killed DIO by now. It might all already be over. He might be seeing his mother right now. He’s never going to call her a bitch again, if they both make it out of this.
He looks out the window and thinks of home.
- — -
“I spoke to Kakyoin.”
If Jotaro was sleepy before, he isn’t now. Fuck, he’d have thought the old man had already nodded off if the lack of snoring didn’t give him away.
Kakyoin.
“Yeah?”
“He’s…recovering. The doctors say he’ll never see as well again, and he says they’re full of shit and anyway he can see through Hierophant Green just fine, but generally his health’s on the uptick.”
Jotaro exhales.
“Good. That’s…good.”
“They say he might even be released within the week, if they can sort a few things out first.”
“The week? Then-”
Oh. Oh.
He might see him again. Kakyoin might be back . He might be back in the fight. They might see him in Cairo. Maybe even before.
But the Tower waits in Cairo. DIO lives inside it.
Was he making his own luck, or was he watching things turn for the worse? Was this the Wheel, or the Star?
Could he stop any of what was coming?
Weakly, he remembers what Avdol cautioned him against, the High Priestess. Insecurity. He needs confidence, needs strength of will, if any of this is going to work. He can’t second-guess himself.
But Kakyoin-
“Jotaro?”
“Hrm?”
“You haven’t said anything for a while.”
Jotaro doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Are you alright?”
“...I’ll be alright.”
It’s a lie.
It’s a lie because so much can go wrong. It’s a lie because the weight of the world is literally on his shoulders. It’s a lie because there’s nothing he can do and everything he needs to do. It’s a lie because he knows, on some level, he’ll never be alright again. Never be the same kid, the arrogant delinquent who hurt people without caring about the consequences. Never quite be Kujo Jotaro ever again.
But Kakyoin’s okay. Kakyoin’s okay , his recovery has been consistent, there haven’t been any sudden complications that’ve kept him up for so many nights in hotels just like this one. He’s going to be alright.
It’s a lie.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be.