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When it ended, there were three graves dug.
Not real graves, but mental ones.
Jotaro dug his first. He dug it as he headed home from Cairo. After the excitement from Joseph's revival in hospital car, and after he witnessed Dio's body turn to ash, he reflected back on someone.
Kakyoin.
Jotaro's mind turned to the shorter redhead as he watched the sun rise. His mind slipped to all those times Kakyoin and him just sat together. His mind slipped to all those times the two shared smiles and laughs. His mind slipped to how Kakyoin truly appreciated who he was.
Jotaro knew he was a cold, very rude individual. He knew that very well. Why he chose to stay that way, he never knew, but what he didn't know even more why was Kakyoin seemed to never be...put off by it.
Maybe it was those quiet whispers in the hotel room they shared, or the appreciative gazes the two had at how nature made her Earth. As Jotaro returned to the car to go home, his heart tugged a little bit on how Kakyoin was so fond of small objects. How detail oriented he was. How far he came from that first encounter, when Kakyoin was so cowardly as to use someone else to attack Jotaro.
With fondness, he especially remembered how strong he was with the younger D'Arby. Jotaro remembered feeling very satisfied, even in a place as vile as Dio's mansion, that Kakyoin has come so far.
Jotaro was appreciative of all Kakyoin's qualities, just as Kakyoin was of his. Jotaro never felt more at home with anyone. And Jotaro didn't feel at home with just anyone. Kakyoin was a good person when it came to knowing the value of peace and quiet, something Jotaro felt the others lacked in annoying degrees. But not him. It never was him.
Jotaro was thankful for that. He was thankful for all those nights in those random hotels where Kakyoin was his roommate. He was thankful for all those silent nights where the two would do nothing but entertain their own thoughts. He may not have lasted the trip without that.
As the car sped by the desert landscape, Jotaro felt his heart ache for Kakyoin's special silence. He longed for that redhead to be once again sitting by some window, drawing or looking out at the world. He longed for Kakyoin to come home with him, to be sitting in the back seat with his pretty white scarf and cherry red earrings.
He longed for someone so special to come back. Jotaro was never one to explicitly mourn someone, or even to dwell on such things for more than a moment, but Kakyoin's death stuck to him. It stuck.
Maybe it was just because he was young. Maybe it was just because Kakyoin never had any friends before, and died never seeing any of them.
Maybe it was because Kakyoin meant so much to Jotaro. That kind of person doesn't come often in anyone's life time.
As the sun came up further over the horizon, Jotaro pulled his cap over his eyes.
He didn't want anyone to see him crying.
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Polnareff dug his second. He did it long after Jotaro's, whose grave was dug the moment after the fight was over. Thankfully, Polnareff thought, he wasn't awake to stress himself out doing such a task. It would have worsened his condition.
But now, on the plane, there was no more fighting. There was no Dio. There were no more stands, no more evil, no more injuries.
No more stuff to run from and put it off.
He dug his grave for Iggy.
Sure, the dog itself was a pain. Sure, it was a vulgar, nasty, stubborn canine, but that was just it. Polnareff didn't see just a dog when he remembered Iggy. He saw a someone.
Polnareff saw a someone. A very outnumbered, outmatched and very proud someone who even on the brink of death gave everything he had so someone else could live. Iggy was a someone who understood loyalty, who understood selflessness, and understood pain. He was a someone who despite his small size, gave everything he had to protect his friends and never doubted himself once while doing it.
Iggy wasn't just a dog. He was a someone. He was a nasty, stinky, yet courageous someone, and Polnareff promised himself he would never forget that. He promised himself he would never forget a someone who gave what little they had for someone who may not have been able to give him anything in return.
Polnareff couldn't help but cry on the plane. He cupped his hand over his face so as to not disturb the other passengers with his bawling, but it was of little help. The tears flowed freely.
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The third grave was dug for Avdol. Joseph was the grave digger.
Part of the reason was because he was dead for a while. The other was that he kept putting it off.
It was the airplane back home, after Polnareff's, where he finally decided to deal with it.
Joseph never really knew why he took so long to do it. He wasn't the kind to put things off. He wasn't the kind who felt so much guilt over those who died that he couldn't move on.
"If I could move on from Caesar, I can move on from this." Joseph said to himself quietly. He felt as if his heart was going to pour out of his chest, and spill all over the seat, all over the plane, enough to drown everyone.
Joseph felt his heart move for Avdol. The courageous, emotional yet loyal companion who helped make the trip possible.
His mind turned to the Mariah incident. His mind turned to all those other clever times where Avdol's wisdom helped the old man live another day. His mind turned to the events of the whole adventure in fact; because Avdol smiling was such a bold and enjoyable sight that Joseph couldn't help but remember.
He couldn't help but remember.
Avdol was more than a friend on this trip. He was a companion. He was a solider. He was a crusader.
He was one of the boldest, wisest, and intelligent individuals Joseph had ever met.
He wept for Avdol with his hands cupped over his eyes. He wept quietly for the loss of such a brilliant mind, such a talented individual, and such a magnificent companion.