Chapter Text
Sherry lightly knocked on her brother’s door before pushing it open. Jean Pierre looked up from the book he was reading while lounging on the bed.
“Sherry?” Jean Pierre marked his page and set the book aside as he started to get up from his bed. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t get far before Sherry sat beside him and threw her arms around his middle. Jean Pierre froze momentarily, but returned the hug and patted her hair, just hesitantly enough to feel patronizing. Damn, did Sherry hate this. She would be the first to say that recently she was more than a bit on guard when it came to men, but of course this didn’t apply to Jean Pierre. Never Jean Pierre. Not the man who ripped that rat bastard off of her when he was finished with her body. Not the man who peeled off his raincoat during the torrential downpour and lovingly wrapped up Sherry, sparing her from the elements before confronting her rapist. And certainly not the man who stood by both Sherry and Sophie in the hours after that passed in a flurry of police officers and doctors.
That flurry—that haze over her memories—had been screwing with Sherry’s head for weeks now but was steadily clearing over the past few days. She imagined it was her mind trying to protect her from what she went through. Maybe that was a sign that she would start to feel normal again? She certainly didn’t feel normal. She barely left the house recently, not even to go to school. She pitifully relied on Sophie to bring her classwork from school, and Sherry was borderline homeschooling herself at this point. She had tried going back to class a few days after, but she couldn’t make it through the day. Not when her classmates knew. No, Sophie didn’t say anything, and Jean Pierre would sooner die than breathe a word. But it was a small village; everyone knew everyone’s business. She couldn’t stand the eyes on her. There were whispers—maybe about her, maybe not—but she couldn’t stop them from scratching at the inside of her mind. She didn’t even make it to lunch before one of her teachers rang for Jean Pierre to pick her up, and she’d barely left the house since.
(She tried not to think about how this was impacting Jean Pierre’s work. She didn’t have the courage to ask if he had permission to miss this many days.)
“Sherry?” Jean Pierre’s scared voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “What’s going on? You’re making me nervous.”
“I have a question about the…,” Sherry paused, trying to figure out what to refer to. The assault? But the question wasn’t about the rape itself. Attack? Would that be too unclear?
But she really shouldn’t have doubted her brother. Of course he would understand what she was asking. He nodded and simply said, “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
Sherry halfway wished that he said no. That he had given her permission to get out of this conversation. Because she felt crazy. Not in the way that she did when she burst into tears after she got her first period since, letting out weeks of terror when her body confirmed what the doctors had already told her. No, this was a different type of crazy that Sherry was about to spring on Jean Pierre, because there was no way that she was asking about something real. He was going to have to deal with his little sister seeing things that weren’t there or didn’t happen or at best happened in a way her brain wasn’t letting her remember.
But she couldn’t keep going with this question stirring inside her.
“When Sophie and I were attacked—and I mean attacked like a fight, not the assault—I, uh, I didn’t see a weapon.” Jean Pierre didn’t say anything, but his mouth was pressed in a hard line. Sherry took that as a sign to keep pressing. “He was about a meter, maybe two, away from us when Sophie’s chest was slashed. I didn’t have time to think much of it in the middle of it all cause I was knocked over right after that, which also doesn’t make sense now that I think about it because he didn’t get closer until I was on the ground—”
“Sherry, are you planning on breathing?”
Sherry took a dramatic gasp of air and lightly smacked her brother’s face. “Happy now, you jerk?” She shifted to rest her head against Jean Pierre’s chest. “Then when you arrived and Sophie ran off to call the police, you kept that man away from me. By the time he was running away from the sirens, he was hurt. But I didn’t see you lay a finger on him.”
Jean Pierre didn’t answer immediately, but when did, he started off with a forced chuckle. “Come on now, Sherry. Didn’t you see the knife I brought with me?”
What? “Jean Pierre, the hell are you talking about?”
“The knife! You thought I would jump into a fight without a weapon? Please Sherry, give me a bit of credit! I take your safety very seriously. I wouldn’t jump into the fray without some way to keep the fight even.”
Sherry rubbed her temples as Jean Pierre lied to her face. She did not need this today. “Didn’t you say that you happened to find us because you got off your shift early?”
Jean Pierre blinked and looked away, mumbling to himself. “I did tell her that, didn’t I?”
“Are you implying that I can reach into your raincoat pocket at any time and find a knife?” Sherry’s fingers clenched and unclenched around the quilt on the bed. “Or did you steal one from the restaurant before you left for the day?”
“…It was a small knife.” He laughed, a classic sign that Jean Pierre was telling Sherry to not worry about whatever she was talking about without outright telling her to not worry. However, the second Sherry stood up to call his bluff, Jean Pierre started to panic. “Maybe he was injured before everything went down. Or maybe you hit him where it hurt when you were trying to fight him off!”
“Jean Pierre,” Sherry stood up to glare directly into his eyes, “do not BULLSHIT ME!” Jean Pierre jerked back at her volume. “It’s hard enough for me to think about that day, and I don’t need you lying to my face about it! I know what I saw, and I know that I don’t know what I saw!” Sherry wrapped her arms around herself, looking away from Jean Pierre to blink away tears. “So please, do you know what happened?”
Jean Pierre sighed and reached his arms out, welcoming her back. Sherry returned to his side, curling into him. His large arms wrapped around her, making a protective wall between Sherry and the world. He said nothing as Sherry shook in his embrace and tears and snot sank into his sweater. Instead, he gave her the time to let out her emotions and ran his thumb over her shoulder.
When he finally brought himself to speak, Jean Pierre’s voice was quiet. “Sherry, I’m terrified.”
“‘bout what?” Sherry asked without moving her face.
“This is something that I’ve never been able to talk about with anyone. And I don’t know how you’re going to react. I want you to feel safe around me, and I don’t know how you’ll feel after I tell you.”
Sherry wiggled out of Jean Pierre’s grip, irritation and stress fizzling into befuddlement. “JP? What are you talking about?”
Jean Pierre pointed to the opposite side the room. “Sherry, can you tell me what you see?”
“Uhhhhhh, there’s your dresser, some pictures, a glass with some water in it, your mirror, some dried flowers, laundry you need to put away, tell me when I’ve said enough.”
“You’re good.” Jean Pierre took a breath and fixed his eyes in that direction. He crooked his finger like he was beaconing someone to come over. Sherry was about to ask what he was doing but froze when the glass rose from the dresser. When it started floating through the air and settled into Jean Pierre’s hand, she jumped from the bed.
“What the hell?!” Sherry’s eyes went wide. She scrambled to the space between the bed and the dresser and started waving her arms. There had to be strings somewhere, right? Did Jean Pierre take up magic? That sounds like something he would do in his off time. But after swinging her arms in empty space for long enough, she spun around and stared at Jean Pierre. “Whaaaat’s going on, JP?”
Jean Pierre spun the remaining water in the glass, focusing on the movement rather than Sherry. “I have something called a Stand. You can think of it like a spirit that gives me powers. If I had to take a stab in the dark, the man who attacked you also had one, based on how he was fighting.”
Sherry blinked slowly before she exploded. “You’re MAGIC, and you never told me?!”
Jean Pierre shook his head and stood up. He grabbed a piece of paper off the desk in the corner of his room and stood next to Sherry. “It’s not quite magic. It more like my willpower and fighting spirit are strong enough,” he tossed the paper in the air and took on his fencing form, miming a flurry of slashes, each motion sending a snowfall of paper scraps to the floor, “that they manifest into powers.” He grabbed the paper before it fluttered to the ground and passed it to Sherry.
She shook the loose bits to find an immaculate paper cut of a sleeping cat. “Okay, so not magic, just…magic.”
Jean Pierre rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I’m not really used to thinking of Silver Chariot as magic.”
“Silver what now?”
“Oh! That’s my Stand’s name! Like I said, it might be easiest to think of Silver Chariot like a spirit or a ghost, given that you can’t see him. Sorry.”
Sherry nodded and looked to Jean Pierre’s side and waved to the empty space. She felt a bit awkward doing so, but, trusting that this wasn’t some elaborate prank by her brother, she greeted this Stand of his. “Hello, Monsieur Chariot. It’s very nice to meet you.”
(Silently, Jean Pierre directed Silver Chariot to move from Sherry’s side to stand where she was facing. It was only polite after all.)
“Sherry, Silver Chariot knows you.”
“Oh! That makes sense. He helped you…”
Sherry’s voice trailed off as she thought of the day. If this spirit chose to be with Jean Pierre because of his fighting willpower, he must have thought that Sherry was the most pathetic person that he had ever seen. She didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t think that a naked girl, covered in mud, blood, and fluids that were being diluted by rainwater, would be anything resembling powerful either. Pitiful was more like it. Compared to her valiant brother, Sherry must’ve been the disappointment of the Polnareff family.
“Sherry?” Jean Pierre stepped toward her, concern clear in his eyes. “Everything okay? You still with me?”
Sherry shook her head to clear her mind. “Sorry, I was just thinking that I must’ve given Silver Chariot a terrible first impression. He probably thinks I’m pathetic after what he’s seen. I wouldn't blame him. I mean, if I was stronger, I wouldn't have been—.”
“No!" Jean Pierre cut her off before she could consider finishing the thought. "Sherry, no no no no. Come here.” Jean Pierre pulled her into another hug. “I’m so sorry; I should’ve been clearer. Silver Chariot didn't meet you that day. He didn't meet you days or weeks or even months ago!
"Silver Chariot is a part of me. He is literally my spirit. My very soul. He’s been with me since I was a little kid. He’s known you since you were born. He's seen you every step of the way. He thinks you are strong, so strong. Don't even BEGIN to think you aren't. You got that?
"Besides, even if you were the weakest person on the face of this planet—WHICH YOU ARE NOT—Silver Chariot wouldn't care. He'd still love you. You know why? Because you're you. And when it comes down to it, Silver Chariot is me. How could he do anything else but love you just as much as I do?”
“Oh.” Sherry wiped her eyes before she started crying like Jean Pierre watching a sad animal movie.
He tucked her head under his chin. “If it means anything to you, I’m so happy that I can talk to you about this now. I’ve been terrified my whole life that you would think I’m a monster, or at least a complete freak. I've never been more glad to be wrong."
“Come on, JP. Your magic friend isn’t why I think you’re a complete freak.”
Jean Pierre took her shoulders and pushed her to arm’s length. Lips pursed, he stared her down. “You’re very mean, you know that right?” Despite his annoyance, Jean Pierre cracked a grin at Sherry’s giggles. “Are you feeling a bit better now?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” Jean Pierre pressed a quick kiss to her hairline before releasing her. He lingered in front of her, smiling in that mushy, proud older brother way that made Sherry squirm (but she still put up with it because there really wasn't anyone else around to be proud of either Polnareff). The soft expression didn't last long before Jean Pierre's usual jovial grin flashed back onto his face, and he scampered to the door. With all of the energy of a puppy, he shouted over his shoulder, “Wanna see me mince an onion?”
It took a second for Sherry’s thoughts to catch up with her, but when all variables were plugged into the equation, she shouted “Heck yeah, I wanna see you mince an onion!”
She chased after Jean Pierre’s back, both Polnareffs laughing as they ran to their kitchen to decimate some vegetables.