Chapter Text
Jotaro's earliest memory is, strangely enough, of his father. His mother was with them too, of course, but that was nothing special. She's smothered him his whole life, hot and uncomfortable around his throat like the collar on his jacket, the one he stubbornly refuses to fasten despite the constant bitching and disciplinary notes from his teachers. The odd thing is his dad, busy and absent ever since he can remember. It seemed that young Jotaro only ever saw him when he was being punished, because his mom sure as hell couldn't muster up the courage to yell at him. But the memory is nice, unique among the ones with all three of them together.
In his earliest memory, he's in a moving car. It's a luxurious one, a handsome black coupe that looks less expensive than it is. Even at seven years old, Jotaro understands the concept of old money. His grandfather may hate this country and his son-in-law, the resentful old bastard, but he does love his daughter, and he's made sure Holly will never want for a thing. When Joseph bothers to visit, he's sure to shower him with gifts, gaudy action figures and comics that are far more his own taste than Jotaro's. He always put them neatly away in his bedroom closet, out of sight and out of mind. But Joseph gives bad gifts and good ones, and this car is damn nice. It's even nicer, he remembers, because it had been him in the driver's seat. Not really, of course. His dad was driving, and Jotaro had been on his lap, long before the growth spurt that made him shoot up like a weed on the edge of thirteen years old. He remembers every sensation clearly, as familiar to him as if it had happened yesterday.
Dad fastened the seatbelt around the both of them. He was never a big man, maybe a little taller than your average Japanese, and it wasn't too uncomfortable of a fit. He placed Jotaro's hands on the wheel and let him steer. In hindsight, he knows his dad probably had his hand on the bottom of the wheel; Jotaro was a careful boy, but no seven-year-old is careful enough to drive a new car. Even so, it was a powerful feeling. He leaned forward, the seatbelt riding up on his neck and a mop of black hair swept off his forehead for the moment. It's the same color as his dad's, rich and shiny in hue, almost dark purple, but so much thicker thanks to his mother's strange vitality. The woman seems to have the damn sun shining out of her face. They're driving near the coast, the vast green ocean stretching out for miles and miles to the east. He wants to peer over it, to try and see the white-capped waves, but keeps his eyes forward, clear and calm but not blank, and the road before him is the same. He remembers himself wriggling against the seatbelt, playing with its tension until the mechanism unlocks, and he's no longer constrained. It's an amazing feeling, a feeling of open space and of freedom within containment. Even still he loves to drive more than anything. Travelling at a high speed on a smooth, open course, being comfortable with momentum even in this vulnerable, childlike memory, is a feeling that's stayed with him since that day. Even as his dad dwindled from his day to day life, even as he began to forget what his voice sounded like, it was easy to just keep his eyes ahead and his body arrow-tight, and to just keep on moving.
Jotaro grits his teeth as he feels eyes on his back. He can't even walk to school in peace without being tailed by one girl or another. He tried to remember their names, once, but there are just too damn many of them, and it's so hard to differentiate between them when all they do is chatter. He might be able to handle two or three at a time if they caught him in a good mood, but some mornings he could get mobbed by a dozen girls before he even hit the convenience store that marked the halfway point between school and home. And if that isn't enough, they all want to rub up on him like annoying pampered cats. It sets his nerves on fire and not in the good way. He's fully aware that he's supposed to enjoy this affection, but he just doesn’t. There's something strange about the fact that rich, handsome Kujo could have any girl he wants and does nothing but reject them rapid-fire. Jotaro can't help it. All they do is make his skin crawl. They want something that he just can't give them. They want him to love them and he doesn't, simple as that.
Three girls come out from the treeline and trot up to him. A half-assed head count tells him that these girls are at least some of his regulars. Good grief... he thinks, exasperated with himself. His regulars, like he's a piece of meat. At least they'll know better than to touch him. He has to count his blessings somewhere. It's only three girls. He can handle five before he starts to get a headache. This should be easy. His skin prickles as they get closer, and he pulls down the brim of his hat to obscure the irritated scowl twisting his face. It's hard to stay under the radar with his size. He towers over his classmates and his teachers alike. There is a strong streak of the old man's blood in him; his mom is always going on and on about how similar they look, but honestly, that old bastard is rarely anything more than an annoying thorn in his side. The trio of girls comes up on his heels, coos of "JoJo!" grating as ever in his ears. It's truthfully a nice nickname. It makes him feel tough, and if he had any male friends he might like them to call him JoJo. But his personal like of the nickname gets easily drowned out, because the only ones who ever call him JoJo are these groupies. He speeds up his gait, making wide strides to try and get away from them, but somehow they persist. Those long legs seem to do nothing but cause him problems. Jotaro thinks he might be the unluckiest guy in the world.
"JoJo! Will you come to cram school with me today? I'm having trouble with my biology homework..." The girl, a curly-haired brunette that Jotaro can't even begin to remember, sticks out her lower lip in a pout. She's trying to be cute but it only annoys him. He'd be happy to just do the homework for her, but he knows that isn't what she's really asking him. She's lying, coming up with some shitty excuse to get close to him. If she wanted to go on a date, she could just say so. He would turn her down, to be fair, but she doesn't need to play these games. He doesn't answer and just keeps putting one foot in front of the other. He only needs to put up with this until they get to school, where hopefully he'll be rescued by his first teacher of the day, a shrewd and overly serious man who forgets he teaches lazy teenagers and not scholars. It's late November, close to Christmas, and people are reluctant to do any real work. He doesn't get why that's so hard for his teachers to understand. He'd be grateful for the busywork today, though. Anything would be better than this.
"Don't be an idiot! JoJo is coming with me after class for parfaits." He was doing no such thing, but he guesses she'd already made the decision for him. The two of them start bickering, and Jotaro's mood only sours. It's so obvious that he doesn't like them. Why turn against your friend for a guy who would clearly rather be anywhere else? These silly girls are an enigma for sure. They go back and forth for a while, flinging low insults at each other because they both know there's no real argument to be had here. Jotaro keeps on walking, trying to shut them both out, but they're all heading to the same place and there isn't long to go now. Jotaro comes to the top of the stone steps that lead down into his school's courtyard. The first girl jeers loudly at her companion and a muscle jumps in Jotaro's cheek. Once he's showing visible signs of irritation, once he loses control of himself, that's when he knows it's already gone too far. He reels Star Platinum back, feeling him rear up his great arms as the sensory overload starts to set in. When did he start to call his specter 'he'? The fact that this is his soul in its rawest form, a deep magenta beast who can only search and destroy, scares him. All his life he's had to be consciously gentle, careful not to injure an innocent with his rough grip and too-large body. He's an explosive force and he knows it, and Star Platinum is that force given life. He's lucky his Stand is an obedient one. His grandfather's young friend, Mr. Abdul, had told him of Stands with wills of their own that disobey their masters freely. He thanks any god there is that Star Platinum at least goes away when he tells it to. The problem remains however, and he strikes out at the girls, his baritone voice cracking like a bull whip through the chilly air.
"Shut the hell up! You're so damn annoying!"
He didn't want it to go that far. It's still early, and there aren't many students filtering into the courtyard. It's obvious who just shouted, and silence falls over the landscape, bouncing off the gravel and the brick walls and the cherry trees. The three girls all blush in turn before squealing and curling against each other, their previous argument forgotten. It's like they didn't hear him at all, and only cared about him addressing them. Jotaro glowers, the intention lost on them. He doesn't think they're dumb or anything, just silly and lovestruck. He has classes with two of them, and they interact with the teachers just like everyone else. Contrary to popular belief, Jotaro likes school. He pays attention in class, both to whatever lecture is taking center stage and to his peers. He could point out which people in class would go on to become academics, and which would go on to be society's underbelly. He may not talk to any of them, but he watches, and he notices, and he remembers. He doesn't believe that any of these people really know him. Frustrated at the entire situation, Jotaro squares his shoulders forward and starts to descend the steps.
He doesn't even make it halfway down. On the downstep, Jotaro feels a sharp pain blossom through his calf, not severing any tendons but coming pretty damn close, and his knee buckles. Jotaro tumbles ungainly down the steps, and while his body is twisted in on itself, he catches a glimpse of his uniform pants. One leg has been slashed, both the fabric and flesh underneath ruined. Dark blood wells up. The wound is shallow but nasty. He'll be able to walk as long as he goes to the nurse for some gauze. He stretches out Star Platinum's arm, thick fingers curling around a limb of the cherry tree at the bottom of the steps. The branches are gray and bare, the soft petals not to bloom for another few months, and the bark cuts into the palm of his hand. He'll take it, though. Better to cut his hand then to crack his skull open on the sidewalk. Star Platinum catches him easily, guiding his hand to the limb and cradling him as he drops. Jotaro crouches in the shadows of the branches to assess the wound. There's no saving his pants; the slash is right across the back of his calf, cutting through both the fabric and the seam. He gingerly touches the wound on his leg, testing its severity. It hurts like hell, and Jotaro draws his bloodstained fingers back. He thinks he'll be okay, but he's bleeding a lot and needs a bandage at the very least.
Jotaro steels himself to stand up, the muscles in his thighs bunching against the searing pain in his calf, but before he can stand to his full height, a pair of patent leather shoes stop directly in front him. The rich green of the person’s pants doesn't match his school's uniform, and he looks up with one eyebrow cocked. An odd boy stands above him, looking down on him with a strange expression. His gaze seems both distant and piercing at the same time. Jotaro feels like this guy is staring a hole right through him. His voice is even and high-pitched when he speaks. "You should really be more careful, JoJo." Jotaro looks up at him, wondering how he knows that nickname, and has to shield his eyes. It's a cold but sunny day, and the other boy is standing right in the sun's path. A flash of pinkish-red in his eyes is all he can make out. The guy crouches next to him, and he gets his first clear look at him.
He's a spectacle indeed, just as weird-looking as Jotaro had first thought. He's a mess of contradictions, with a wide mouth and a little waist and a shock of red hair, cut in an asymmetrical style, one long lock curling down onto his cheek and swinging with him when he tilts his head. He offers Jotaro a handkerchief. He takes it wordlessly, somehow unable to turn him away. He’s never met this guy before, but when he offers the cloth to Jotaro, the look in his eyes is one of recognition, and then to Jotaro’s alarm, one of assessment. He’s squaring him up. He doesn’t seem like the bruiser type that he’s so familiar with, and he’s a good six inches shorter than Jotaro and far skinnier. He doesn’t think he can fight him, right? He feels the odd shift in his perception, the telltale sign of Star Platinum rising from his subconscious. The purple thrum of his Stand shoots through his powerful shoulders, his muscles preparing for this other boy to strike. He won’t be the first one to swing. Just because he hurts people a lot doesn’t mean he enjoys it, and besides, this guy is so delicate he would feel like he was crushing a flower.
Star Platinum flexes his fingers, stiff from underuse. Can a Stand get stiff muscles? Better not to think too hard about it. The redhead flashes his gaze to Star Platinum for a moment, and Jotaro knows that he can see him. It’s a half-second glance, it’s nothing, but it’s enough. He looked right at him. Another Stand user at his school, so soon after he awakened his own. Good freaking grief, last week he had a regular, boring life, and now it seems like everyone he knows has some kind of superpower. He really needs a smoke break right now.
Jotaro focuses on treating his wound, pressing the pink handkerchief against his leg and soaking up the mess of blood. It’s starting to get in his shoe, and he grimaces against the uncomfortable squelch underfoot. “Thanks,” he says simply, and offers the handkerchief back, but when he looks up that boy is already gone. He scans the courtyard, using Star Platinum to open his eyes and ears to their full spectrum, but he's nowhere to be found, slinking away right under Jotaro’s nose. The residual energy from Star Platinum, and from his Stand, whatever it looks like, hangs in the air like the smell of ozone before a lightning strike. The handkerchief is saturated with his blood, but he catches a name embroidered on the fabric, neat backstitches made with a thick red thread: Kakyoin Noriaki. He’s on edge as he stands up, his fighting instinct pricking at his nerves all the way to the nurse’s office. He should probably check in with his teacher first, but decides not to. He’ll gripe at him for sure, but he’s not too concerned about it. There aren’t a lot of teachers who are willing to try their luck with Kujo Jotaro, and this one is no exception.
His high school building has three floors, one designated for each grade level. Jotaro is a third year, set to graduate in the summer. He turns eighteen in February. He’s about to become an adult and he still has no idea what he’s going to do after school is over. He could go to college if he wanted. His test scores are pretty good in all his classes, and he’d probably be a shoe-in for American colleges if he throws his grandfather’s name around a little. He has no idea what he’d study, but plenty of people apply for college without any real plan. He’d be right at home, despite the fact that he would be so, so far from home. His mom would probably never stop crying if he moved to America. She loves his dad, but the guy is never around. He’s touring almost constantly; if Jotaro moved away, she would literally have no one. She’s a strong woman, but he doesn’t know if she’s that strong.
The infirmary is on the first floor, directly across the hallway from the Principal’s office, and Jotaro walks in without knocking. The nurse is preoccupied with a couple of underclassmen trying to play hookie, but Jotaro’s steps fall heavy on the worn tile floor, loud enough for her to flinch. She’s familiar with Jotaro, and when they lock eyes she can only assume the worst. Most fights leave the other guy way worse off than him, but he’s seen his fair share of hard hitters too, and the school nurse always patches up the hard-to-reach places for him. “Be with you in just a minute, Kujo.”
The two younger guys are really laying it on thick, wailing and clutching at their bellies melodramatically. He’s gonna be here a while, and hunkers up against one wall to observe his surroundings. The building is poorly ventilated and stuffy all year round, so she has the window open to let in some fresh air. The usual jars of cotton swabs and antibacterial wipes line the counters along with a layer of dust that never seems to go away. Jotaro lives in a historical suburb of Tokyo, one well below his family’s means. Dad is a traditional guy and was never entirely comfortable with his wife being wealthier than him, and so Jotaro goes to an old school with pretty questionable structure. Everything in this building creaks and groans, and sometimes it’s all Jotaro can focus on. ‘Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of the floorboards.’ No wonder his teachers don’t like him; he’s a high-maintenance student.
He doesn’t realize he’s getting lost in his thoughts until he hears one of the other boys scream. Jolted out of his daydream, Jotaro looks up. His adrenaline kicks in on seeing the scene, and Star Platinum rises up just behind his shoulders, one huge hand defensive on the back of his neck and the other coiled back in preparation to strike. He’s a perfectly balanced fighting machine, a being that understands only physics and nothing else. If there’s going to be a Stand fight here, at least it will be impressive to behold.
The nurse has almost totally lost herself. In Jotaro’s distraction, she jabbed her fountain pen into the boy’s eye. Dark blood drips down his chin and into his mouth, and his cries are broken and ugly. His friend scrambles to escape the office with both eyes, but before he can, a ribbon of luminous green whips out, grabbing the leg of a nearby chair and jamming it under the door handle. The tendril withdraws, slinking across the floor and up and around the nurse’s leg. She’s still standing and still able to speak, but clearly not herself. Her movements are jumpy like a dancing puppet, her feet splayed out at an inhuman angle and her dark eyes rolled back in her skull. More of those weird ribbons twist around her legs and above the collar of her shirt, disappearing under her hairline. Jotaro’s gaze shoots back down lightning-fast, and he sees more and more of them, green and quicksilver, blotchy like the sun through the waves, shining down on the shallow sandbar underneath. He maps their path and traces them back to the open window, to their source, and Jotaro can hardly say he’s surprised.
“Kujo Jotaro! You have something that belongs to me.”
He looks so different in the heat of battle. Under the bleak morning sun, Kakyoin seemed to cradle himself, never moving his limbs too far from the trunk of his body. Even now he has one arm notably wrapped around his own waist, his other hand extended out and intertwined with what Jotaro can only assume is his Stand. All the ribbons collect near the thing’s torso, solidifying into a slender body that mirrors his master’s. He’s the same shifting, fluorescent green color all over, with silver and gold accents on his chest and head. His eyes are glowing yellow and segmented vertically, and if the Stand has a mouth it’s covered by a mask, fixed to his head with a white harness. He clings to Kakyoin, hanging close to his shoulder with his tendrils splaying out across the tiles like a spiderweb.
“Isn’t he impressive? Behold, my lifelong companion: my Hierophant Green!” He flourishes, his odd violet eyes shining. Alone, Kakyoin is shy and polite, desperate to not be seen. But Jotaro can tell that this is his element. Hierophant Green sings through every movement in his body. He powers his user through the momentum of battle, nearly dancing, and Kakyoin doesn’t even need to think about it. Jotaro knows, because Star Platinum makes him feel the same.
Kakyoin’s eyes drift up to meet Star Platinum’s. “How imposing! Is it true that you recently manifested him? Lord Dio’s intel is unfailing as usual.” Jotaro starts. Dio, the same bastard wearing his great-great grandfather as a full-body prosthetic. The muscles in his thighs tighten up in defense, but Kakyoin seems unfazed. He laughs, a noise of triumph that Jotaro wouldn’t expect from him based on their earlier encounter. “Don’t be so startled. Lord Dio will excuse the loose lips. In fact, he’ll probably reward me nicely.” He looks to Jotaro then, his eyes dark and sinister. He smirks with all his teeth, his wide mouth pulling back. Jotaro understands then that this guy is ruthless. He would end his life without a second thought. “Since I’m about to kill you with my Stand.”
He doesn’t move from his seat in the windowsill, and for a second Jotaro wonders where the attack is coming from. Then the nurse lunges with impossible speed, her pen aimed at his jugular. She’s fast, but not fast enough. Star Platinum deflects in the blink of an eye, and the sharp pen slashes the purple Stand across the cheek instead. She recovers quickly, surging back up with her pen. Jotaro catches her wrists in one of Star Platinum’s hands, careful to restrain but not hurt her. He looks up to his red-haired enemy, his eyes burning with rage. “This is an innocent woman, bastard.” Jotaro tries to sound intimidating, and it gets the point across, but it’s so hard to curb the edge of panic in his voice. He’s not a good guy, make that known. He never has been. He’s slow to trust and abrasive with a quick fuse, a heavy tongue, and even heavier hands. But even he draws the line when innocent people are involved. “You’re sick.”
“Am I?” Kakyoin quips. He’s a match for Jotaro’s wits. Everything he knows about intimidation does not apply to this person. Everyone else shrinks down under his steely blue gaze. But if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that this Kakyoin is enjoying himself. “Maybe you think I am evil, but if I’m victorious in my mission, it won’t matter what you think. If Lord Dio’s pen is the one to write our battle, then the hero will be me. The loser in a fight is always the evil one.” His eyes glint like dark jewels. He stays pointedly far away from Jotaro. Surely he knows about Star Platinum’s limited range, and knows that Jotaro will not hurt the school nurse. He’s untouchable with a wide-open opportunity to strike.
Kakyoin wrings his hands a few times, and Hierophant Green whips out with his ribbons, twisting around Star Platinum’s left wrist and wrenching it upward. The force sends Jotaro staggering to one knee, and he feels the phantom pain of the appendage biting into his Stand’s arm. With the majority of Hierophant Green sheltered in the nurse’s body, he can’t hit her. He’d have to go from the inside out… Good grief… This will be an interesting one to explain to the principal if this woman remembers any of this.
Star Platinum reaches for the nurse, a broad hand going behind her back to cradle the fall. Kakyoin’s eyes widen, his expression incredulous. He looks like a fish, gasping in the open air. He had him pegged as a good guy, and didn’t expect him to lunge at an innocent with all his might. It’s only a moment that he manages to catch him off guard, but a moment is all Star Platinum needs. He moves so fast that Jotaro can barely see it. He shuts his eyes and breaks the distortion between the two of them, and then he can see from Star Platinum’s perspective. The yellow eyes of Hierophant Green peer up at him, hiding in the nurse’s mouth. Holding her steady, Star Platinum’s fingers tighten in her hair and he lunges with teeth bared, a battle cry tearing out of his throat in a shocking imitation of Jotaro’s voice.
The battle instincts flare up, his Stand’s power calling out to his foe’s, and Hierophant Green strikes upwards to meet him. A human throat is a very strange fighting ground, but Star Platinum is savage and his precision is unmatched. His teeth catch onto an astray ribbon, and he closes his mouth and tears the other Stand out of the school nurse, leaving her convulsing on the floor. Jotaro would say she has about a fifty-fifty chance of a broken neck, but will probably live.
Kakyoin’s alien Stand is caught firm between Star Platinum’s teeth, and the clench in his jaw is proof of his Stand’s raw strength. He feel’s Hierophant Green’s pulse quicken in his mouth, but Kakyoin only seems a little flustered, lounging on the windowsill. He’s wearing a pure white scarf, heavy against the winter chill. Jotaro wonders where he transferred from. Maybe he’s just made of stronger stuff, but it seems like this guy isn’t used to the cold. The scarf flies in front of him with the wind, and he shifts his weight expertly, like he’s putting on a show. The way his back bends is inhuman, he shouldn’t realistically be able to support his own weight. He may be small and polite, but Jotaro knows better than anyone that people aren’t always what they seem. Kakyoin’s jaw is a little bruised but he wears the marks well, looking at Jotaro with his chest puffed out. “The spoiled brat, Kujo Jotaro. Lord Dio didn’t tell me you were such a magnificent fighter. Your Star Platinum is really giving me a run for my money!” He spits a thick glob of blood onto the finished wood floor as if to punctuate. “Good try, JoJo! You’re a pretty good strategist! But you’re still not as good as me. You just put the nail in your own coffin.”
Hierophant Green’s body, formerly soft and melodic in its movement, starts to drip with viscous fluid. The Stand’s vibrant green skin seems to contort and short out and he gets more wild in his grasp. He’s clearly agitated, his body getting more slimy and harder to hold onto, and eventually Star Platinum can’t keep ahold of him anymore. He slips out of his bone-crushing grip like a live fish and slinks up to Kakyoin, his back pressed up to his master’s chest. “My Hierophant Green is an extremely introverted being. He hates wide open spaces, and your Star Platinum just pulled him into a strange world. You’re about to die anyway, JoJo, so I think he’ll allow me to indulge in telling you. As a worthy opponent.” His red hair is mussed and curling from both exertion and sweat. It’s long on the back of his neck just like Jotaro. “Witness the Hierophant’s final attack! Emerald Splash!”
Kakyoin splays his hands like something out of a big shot fighting game, the confident, square set of his shoulders clashing with his narrow, high waist. Hierophant Green mimics him, spinning the dripping green liquid between his hands in a miniature typhoon. He cocks one hip back, and with a twist of his wrists and a different elaborate hand motion, impossible to describe, the swirling water between Hierophant Green’s palms freezes. Gleaming emeralds, a vibrant green like his uniform, rocket forth with frightening speed. Jotaro hardly has enough time to react. Star Platinum roars and throws up one thick arm to defend his master, the sharp edges of the jewels sinking deep into the muscles. He deflects most of them, but Jotaro can feel two or three wounds, already soaking blood into the sleeve of his uniform. Jackass. This coat was expensive.
Jotaro’s eyes are smoldering, aquamarine fire when they meet Kakyoin’s cocky violet. He starts the semantics again, and Jotaro recognizes the trademark hand motions of another Emerald Splash attack. Kakyoin is the same age as him, maybe even younger. If he really is one of Dio’s assassins, Jotaro hates to think what would make a teenage boy devote himself to such a cruel man. Kakyoin Noriaki had to be fucked up beyond reach. Just how close is he to Dio’s side? Does he have any intel? Jotaro settles into the tactical mindset his grandfather taught him, a technique to calm his blood rage and help him think in more logical terms. And even as mad as he is, he still knows that dead boys can’t tell secrets. Right then, Jotaro makes the decision to spare him.
He readies Star Platinum, the tight muscles in his triceps coiling back as he prepares to shield Jotaro again. Kakyoin does the same trick with his hands, a twitch of the thumb and the longest fingers, and brings another barrage of emeralds forth, but this time Jotaro is prepared. He’s only known the fortune teller for a few days, but Mr. Abdul remarked earlier on just how amazing Star Platinum was. A Stand that understands, a Stand that is able to learn. He had no information at all on the nature of Dio’s Stand, but the ability to grow in power, to develop new powers, would terrify any enemy they might find. Star Platinum catches the gems on the hardest curves of his body, sending them right back at his attacker.
Kakyoin, who had been a graceful, swaggering enemy up until that point, nearly falls from the windowsill from the force of it. One of Hierophant Green’s own emeralds catches him high on the chest, and fresh blood wells up from his mouth. A few shades darker than his curly hair, he lets it spill and soak into the collar of his uniform. Jotaro gets the feeling his Emerald Splash doesn’t miss its mark very often. The open-mouthed fish look is back, along with a glint of fear in his eyes. Star Platinum seizes the shorter boy by his uniform, lifting him off his feet and holding him chest-to-chest before baring his teeth in his face. Jotaro himself walks up as brooding as he can manage. When his red eyebrows knit together, Jotaro knows that he’s made his point and can finish the job. “What’s wrong, cherry top? Are you scared?”
“Never.” His voice could almost pass for bold, but his body tells the truth of it. He’s trembling under Star Platinum’s iron-hard hands, his bottom lip worked to a swollen purple bruise by nervous biting. He is scared, just short of wetting himself out of fear.
“You should be.”
Star Platinum’s fist cracks into Kakyoin’s chest and then presses further, breaking his ribs against the brass studs on his gloves. He’s too fast in his assault for Jotaro to see clearly, but he feels the rush of blood to his head and hands, feels his eyes dilate and saliva pool under his tongue. Star Platinum hits his mark every time, one final backswing to the jaw knocking Kakyoin to the floorboards, unconscious as the nurse from before. The two guys from before bolted a while ago, their pretend illnesses forgotten in the interest of saving their sorry asses.
The nurse’s office is a total wreck, covered in broken glass and blood, as well as medical supplies knocked around during the fight. Kakyoin breathes slow and shallow, each shuddering inhale probably sending bolts of pain through him. He doesn’t have much training in the ways of first aid, but Jotaro gives him a once-over anyway. He isn’t at risk of dying from blood loss or shock, and Jotaro will have to check for a concussion when he wakes up, but he’ll survive as long as he gets seen to quickly. But with the nurse out of commission…
“Son of a bitch…” Jotaro mutters. He can’t go to the hospital. They’d be useless when it comes to Stand injuries, and they would surely ask more questions than Jotaro was interested in answering. He has no other option but to bring him home. He tries his slashed leg and both arms to see if they’re up to snuff, and then lifts the other boy gently into his arms. Guess he’ll have some more explaining to do to his school’s truancy officer. It might be good for his Mom, though, to have someone in the house to fuss over.
I hope she likes him, Jotaro thinks as he carries Kakyoin off campus, then wonders why he’s so concerned about that woman’s opinion, before clearing his mind and setting down the path home, heavy cargo in his arms.