Work Text:
The early evening has a peaceful feeling to it, something for which he's grateful. Like this, it's easy to imagine the silent agony will pass. It's easy to forget he's dying and he supposes he could hardly ask for anything better - a quiet end, for a quiet life.
Sharp at first, the pain that spread through him (a just reward for all his transgressions) is now an ache that throbs in time with the slow drip drip of water and blood. For as long as he's still aware of himself, he focuses on that sound and the lazy breeze that stirs through the dry air.
If only he could speak, "At least I could help, in the end," is what he'd say to himself to ease the rending of his soul from unwilling flesh. (If only he could speak, he'd say so many things, but his throat feels raw and he can barely breathe.)
He hopes his last effort was put to good use, that it could provide his friends (his friends, not mere people he knows or even allies) an edge in their fight.
If he could strain his hearing to extend beyond the boundaries of his continuously narrowing world (currently containing the rooftop, the water tower, his body sluggishly bleeding out), he's certain he could hear the sounds of battle being waged on the streets of Cairo, or maybe even the sounds of victory he's already grown so used to.
Perhaps they'll win (his friends will win), perhaps they'll come for him (broken as he is), perhaps it's not too late (not too late to start over), perhaps he's not beyond salvation (there was a spark of nobility in the user of Geb, surely there's at least a fraction of that in what is left of him), perhaps he'll live.
He closes his eyes with perhaps on his tongue and a smile. He knows he'll soon be gone, but he wishes he could've at least seen the stars come out. It looks like it might be a beautiful night.
"I thought you would be dead by now," a voice says. "You continue to surprise me."
He didn't expect this either. He's still alive, and the sky above is dark. Night must've fallen while he was out of it. Pinpoint stars glimmer, their light as cold and distant as he feels.
"Oho, you're awake, too!" the voice intones approvingly. Advance upon him is marked by soft splashing; the sound reminds him exactly where he is, how he came to be there, and why the voice seems so familiar.
The panic that floods him is blinding. There's no way he can summon any defence now, but he forces numb fingers against cold metal. He somehow pushes himself up in spite of the pain that shoots up and down through his body until every nerve ending is on fire. Why is he still alive, he wonders as the other continues his approach; how has he lasted this long?
"Would you like to run away?" the man teases, closer and closer until he comes to a stop. "Scrabble off into the darkness like the rat you are? It would be such a shame to let you cower in torment until your death...after all, you're the only one left."
The words and the self-satisfied laughter in that voice still his feeble attempt at escaping. His gaze is drawn to the other man, questioning and afraid at the same time. In the light cast by night-time Cairo, he can see the slow widening of Dio's smile, teeth white and sharp.
"Yes," he says as he stretches slowly, deliberately, showing off the gore his face and bare chest are spattered with. When his arms come down to rest at his sides, he half-turns allow a look at the two mounds of something behind him. "Yes," he repeats proudly, as if talking about hunting trophies.
Anger and pain coalesce into grief and if only Kakyoin could, he would scream. But he can't; the only sound that escapes him is the defeated gurgle of blood in the back of his throat, choking him as he bonelessly falls back. Eyes on those two heaps (he can make out limbs if he tries), he thinks There is nothing left to fight for. There is no point to it, but his body struggles to keep breathing and the effort brings tears to his eyes.
His view of what's left of his friends (who else could that hand, those clothes belong to, and it's useless to hope for a miracle) is suddenly blocked by Dio's imposing size. When a hand reaches for him - for his throat - Kakyoin is sure Dio is going to finish what he started earlier. He almost wishes he would.
Instead, the man only grabs him by the collar of his jacket and pulls him forward.
"There, there," he murmurs comfortingly while sticky blood (both old and fresh) pours from Kakyoin's mouth. He gags and coughs until it feels like his lungs are being crushed. "I can't have you die before I get the chance to thank you."
Once the sputtering stops and the pain subsides a little, he realises what Dio said. He wants to look up and gauge the man's meaning by his face, but he can barely lift his head. Obligingly, Dio helps with that. His free hand pushes Kakyoin's head up gently and holds it by the chin with a deceptively lax grip, while his other supports him still.
"I really owe you." His voice is soft. "I couldn't have gotten this far without you." His words are soothing. "Out of everyone surrounding me, you have been the most useful."
If only it were anyone else saying these things to him.
"You've been my greatest pawn...no, you've been my ally all along, from our first meeting."
If only there was a friendly face and reassuring touch attached to the warm praise, he thinks, gaze falling to Dio's lips, watching words form there and willing himself to stop hearing them. If only...
"They may have figured out my Stand's ability based on that stunt you pulled, but news of no one else's death could have spurred Jonathan's descendants into such foolish, ill-planned action. All it took was one misstep, one moment of carelessness."
Wishful thinking. That's what everything going through his head is, and it all hurts more and more.
"You've been of greater use to me than Vanilla Ice, than N'Doul, than Enya." The vampire draws closer to him, so close that if he wanted to, he could probably taste the blood smeared across his face. That's my friends' blood he realises.
"Such service deserves a reward, don't you think? I could grant any wish you have," Dio whispers into Kakyoin's mouth, mesmerising eyes searching for acknowledgement, or perhaps for the sort of desperation that could drive a man to asking a demon for his heart's desire.
Everything you touch rots and falls apart, Kakyoin wants to say. And I haven't been free since I set eyes on you. He thinks about the nightmares in which he's eaten alive, about being driven by equal parts terror and anger during his waking hours. He knows that the overwhelming guilt accompanying him since his release from Dio's trance is not due to the things he did under the flesh bud's influence (but his own feelings and desires), and there is no one else to blame except himself.
There is no reward which could ever help with that, and certainly no reward he could accept for his role in the death of the people who trusted him.
Dio takes his lack of a reaction for the refusal it is but it doesn't displease him. Rather than angry, he looks content, like someone who likes a challenge. Dio is someone who thrives on adversity, Kakyoin understands.
"Is there nothing I could offer you?" he asks, as if there is an object that would be worth Kakyoin's soul. "Nothing you desire above all?"
It's getting hard to think, but there is only one thing Kakyoin can possibly ask for. With what little strength he has left, he pulls on Dio's arm with both hands until the man relinquishes the hold on Kakyoin's face. His expression reveals curiosity in the teen's intent. Kakyoin only tilts his head back and tugs the vampire's blood-slick hand down until it sits at the base of his neck.
He waits in silence for the end to come, staring up at the stars while Dio stares down at him. The fingers he guided there tighten around his neck for a few long moments and while his breathing grows raspy and slows down, Kakyoin thinks yes this is it this is it. Then the grip is gone, the hand instead moving to cradle his head.
"Come now, wouldn't you rather live instead?" comes the enticement, and Kakyoin wants to laugh. Through the pain of slowly dying, he wants to laugh, but he can't.
Of course he wants to live. In his place, who would want to die? Who wouldn't have affairs they left unfinished, perhaps on purpose, to ensure they would return to them later? Who wouldn't want to go home? Even knowing he'd have to be a vampire, selfishly, Kakyoin wants to live.
Yet he knows he was empty for so long before meeting Jotaro and the others. Living after filling up that void piece by piece would only replace all their work with guilt (merely another sort of emptiness). He's not strong enough to withstand that, he knows. Selfishly, Kakyoin wants to die.
Tears silently stream down his face, too hot against cold skin. He might already be dead for all he knows, and this is Hell.
"Ah, but I suppose yours would be a lonesome existence..." Dio continues in a gentle tone, running a fingertip along Kakyoin's jaw line. "I consider myself lucky for not having to face the years on my own."
He considers the matter with a thoughtful hum, continuing to slowly caress Kakyoin's face. His expression brightens when he seems to reach a conclusion, kind smile at odds with the bloodstains streaking down his face and chest. "I could bring Jotaro back," he says as if the solution is obvious.
Kakyoin's breath stutters and rattles in his chest.
"Would you like that?" Dio asks of Kakyoin.
He squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to consider it, but a part of him wonders: would he like that? The friend he owes everything to - would he like to see him again? Would he like to stand beside him in the way they're both already used to, silently sharing a cigarette without needing to exchange any words?
Wouldn't he like for Jotaro to be alive? Wouldn't he like to touch Jotaro perhaps, a small voice asks. Hasn't he thought about being touched by Jotaro? Hasn't he thought about doing that so many times he's lost count already? Of course, he couldn't have ever confessed: he was afraid of rejection, afraid of being mocked for what may well be misguided feelings. Afraid of Jotaro's disgust, didn't he become disgusted with himself? How sad it all is, that voice chimes. And yet...
"Would you like that?"
And yet, wouldn't Jotaro be grateful to be alive? Weren't they close friends? Wasn't Jotaro always so kind to him? Wouldn't Jotaro be more receptive to Kakyoin's true feelings? Wouldn't they be able to live on and be together?
"I said..."
Wouldn't everything Kakyoin thought of in the darkest, most secret part of himself become reality? The filth, the heat, the way Jotaro would breathe when he--
"Yes."
The sound of his own voice, weak and brittle as it is, surprises Kakyoin. When he opens his eyes, Dio's countenance is no longer that of a master eager to reward a student's good work; that mask is shattered by a look of pure triumph. That's when he feels the pressure at the top of his forehead along with the familiar persistent burrowing, the ache that kills his remorse, and realises what he just agreed to.
"That's all I needed to hear," Dio sweetly intones, then leans in to seize his lips.
He uses teeth and tongue to force his way into Kakyoin's mouth, the kiss becoming little more than a violent clash that Kakyoin has no hope of winning, so he surrenders. Sharp fangs catch at his lips and cut into them and even in the bleeding that ensues, Kakyoin realises he's swallowing more than his own blood.
There's a part of him that understands this will ensure his continued survival for at least a while, and that part wants more, just like the desire to live grows in him. Before Kakyoin can properly respond to the kiss and demand life, Dio pulls entirely away, stepping back and letting him fall to his knees.
Unsurprisingly, even after what must've been a small infusion of Dio's blood, Kakyoin can now hold himself up on all fours. Pain returns along with full consciousness but it no longer seems important when there's pleasant heat blooming rapidly throughout his body, dulling the sharp sensations caused by his wounds.
His attention is diverted from the changes taking place within himself when Dio walks over to where Joseph and Jotaro's bodies lie in the small pool created by the destroyed water tower. He steps over the older Joestar and leans over to grab a hold of Jotaro. He drags the body until it's in front of Kakyoin, just barely out of his reach.
He stands over Jotaro's prone form and after a quick slash of teeth at his palm, Dio stretches his arm out so that the blood drips over his upturned face, into his mouth and into the scrapes and cuts on the visible skin.
Once the flow of blood slows and stops on its own, Dio moves to stand beside Kakyoin and they wait. Kakyoin tells himself he doesn't want Jotaro to return to life, doesn't want to see him wake up, doesn't want Jotaro to find out about what he did, and about his feelings. He tries to convince himself that the build up of hope he feels is because of the flesh bud, but when Jotaro stirs and exhales once, like a sigh, he knows he's lying.
"What is this?" are Jotaro's first words. He moves slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows, then into a sitting position. "Did I just pass out or something?"
When he turns his head to look around, his gaze first lands on Kakyoin then falls to the still-gaping wound through his stomach. Worry glimmers in his eyes (oh how Kakyoin wishes he wouldn't be able to read Jotaro so well by now) and his mouth opens. Kakyoin never gets to hear what he might've said; Dio shifts and the movement gets Jotaro's attention. The teen freezes, then cautiously turns so that his front is to Dio as he crouches close to the ground.
His eyes travel between his ally and his enemy. "What's going on?"
The look confusion is quickly replaced by open and fierce hostility when Dio takes a step forward, leaving Kakyoin behind him. We could take him down now, Kakyoin thinks. The strength he feels returning to him in slow increments should be enough to summon Hierophant Green and between himself and Jotaro, they have Stands with powerful abilities. They could take him down, if only he could summon the willpower to move.
Get up, he thinks while Dio steps closer to Jotaro. Get up and fight.
"You are now immortal," Dio states, "And you have Kakyoin to thank."
He turns to glance at Kakyoin with those words and the flesh bud twists painfully inside his head. He grits his teeth against the intrusion, admitting at the same time that even if they fought and defeated Dio (between the two of them, would that really be possible?), he doesn't know what would happen afterwards. You're too far gone to care, the small voice from earlier tells him, and Kakyoin agrees that he must be.
"K...Kakyoin?" Jotaro's voice carries apprehension clearly enough for Kakyoin to wince and look away. "What did you do?!"
Dio complaisantly replies on his behalf. "It should be obvious, but to put it plainly for you, he sacrificed his humanity...and yours."
The implications of that statement are not lost on Jotaro. From his crouch, he simply drops to his knees while Dio circles around him. "What? Why?!"
His stare doesn't leave Kakyoin's face, disbelief colouring his questions and the way he looks at him. He can't answer. What could he possibly say?
"You don't know?" The vampire is amused. "You really don't know?" He laughs, a harsh ugly sound in the night. "He's in love with you," Dio spits, "and he did this to be with you."
There are no words for Jotaro's expression. Kakyoin can't interpret it; he doesn't know if he sees a question in it or aversion or a desperate request for Kakyoin to deny everything. This is everything he's been afraid of, and Kakyoin's chest tightens painfully.
This was how it was going to play out all along. Everything up until now has been nothing but wishful thinking on his part.
"Don't worry, Kakyoin. I will make your wish come true."
Hat long since lost, Dio easily grabs Jotaro's head by the hair with one hand and pulls back until his neck is tautly stretched, while the fingers on his other hand flex in preparation. The gleeful grin he bears is unaffected by Jotaro's lack of struggle.
Right before Kakyoin's eyes, Dio tears through skin and flesh and blood with his bare hand, and Jotaro's eyes never leave his until the light goes from them. Dio's laughter and the thudding of his own heart grow to a din that Kakyoin can't escape by telling himself more lies.
Numb, he lets himself be guided by Dio: he holds out his arms and accepts Jotaro's head in the only embrace he could ever hope to share with him. He wants to cry, but there's no time to grieve; his head is pushed back gently, and the flesh bud easily plucked out by its master. Above him, Dio's face is oddly calm but lacks the satisfaction Kakyoin thought he would see there. His clever play is drawing to a close, but his eyes seem wistful.
While Dio takes a slow measure of his neck with a broad palm, Kakyoin's eyes fasten on the scar around the vampire's own throat. He wonders how much that hurt and how much what's coming to him will hurt.
"Are you ready?" comes the question.
He's already so far gone. "Yes."
When he comes to again, the hands he presses against his face are not his own. The scars along his arms aren't his own. The clothes, the body he's in - they're not his own.
Across from him, his old self sits kneeling and slumped, arms still cradling the head that isn't his own.
Looking up at the stars that are beginning to disappear with the approach of dawn, he can't remember why he thought tonight might be a beautiful night. Wishful thinking.