Whumptober 2021: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

by LadyWallace

Summary:

My 2021 Whumptober one-shots for JJBA (Additional tags will be added per day) All Parts and characters will be used and whumped at any time.

Up Now: Jotaro is caught by Dio and does not have a good time.

Whump List
Day1: Trish | Day2: Caesar | Day4: Abbacchio
Day5: Prosciutto | Day7: Jolyne | Day8: Abbacchio
Day9: Caesar | Day10: Josuke | Day12: Abbacchio & Narancia
Day13: Mista | Day14: Risotto | Day16: Kakyoin
Day17: Gyro | Day18: Giorno & Mista | Day21: Bucciarati
Day22: Jotaro & Kakyoin | Day27: Fugo | Day28: Josefumi
Day29: Rohan | Day29(2): Jotaro

Notes:

And we're off! Starting out the month of whump with some Golden Wind (and actually not torturing Giorno right off the bat XD) Most of the Whumptober days are going to be JoJo but I also have some Supernatural fics and a couple Merlin ones if you're interested in that.

Today's Prompts Used: "You Have to Let Go"| bound

Chapter 1: All Trussed Up: Trish

Trish tried to keep the panic at bay. She trusted the others to come get her, she did, but still, she wished she was anywhere else right now.

Trish had never been afraid of heights, and really, were people ever really afraid of heights, or was it falling? Because that's what she was looking at right now, nothing but twenty stories of building below her, feet dangling free, arms and shoulders aching from the ropes binding them from her wrists to elbows. As much as they hurt, she was almost glad they were so tight, after all, if they weren't she would have fallen by now.

She started as a shadow passed over her and she glanced up to see her captor grinning cruelly down at her.

"Comfy, signorina? It's a shame no one's come for you yet. Perhaps they don't care about you after all. I'll be rather disappointed if they don't show up. After all, I was hoping to get a good payout from you."

Trish felt tears prick at her eyes. She knew it was stupid. Giorno and the others would come for her. She just felt so helpless, unable to even use her Stand while being trussed so tightly.

Her captor tutted. "Don't cry, signorina. If they don't come, you'll always have a place with me." He reached down to run his fingers across her cheek and she shuddered and pulled away before she thought better of it and the action made her swing slightly in her ropes.

Trish shut her eyes tightly as he chuckled and pulled back inside. Tears leaked down her cheeks finally. The worst part was that this was all her fault too. She shouldn't have gone out alone when they knew someone was targeting their team. She'd only made it easier for this man to get at Giorno and she wasn't sure she would ever forgive herself for that, especially if something were to happen to Giorno or one of the others because of this.

That was when she heard a knock from the inside of the room, someone at the door.

She tried to crane her head to see, but was too far below the window ledge. Straining her ears instead, she caught the sound of Giorno's voice and relief flooded through her.

"You came alone?" her captor asked.

"Yes, as agreed upon," she heard Giorno reply.

"Good. Set the money down on the table. My man will count it before I release the girl."

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of a zipper opening and the shuffle of bills.

Then all of a sudden there was a blood curdling screech.

"What the hell?"

The shout was cut off by a heavy impact and Trish could clearly hear Gold Experience's cry of 'muda' out the open window.

And then Giorno was there at the window, leaning out.

"Trish!" he cried, reaching down and grabbing her bound arms.

"Giorno," she cried, not even bothering to hide her tears now as relief flooded her.

But it seemed her relief came too soon, because as soon as Giorno cut the ropes and began to pull her up, she saw her captor stagger up from the floor, reaching into his coat, presumably for a gun.

"Giorno!"

Giorno had to let go of her with one hand as he spun around, grabbing for his own concealed pistol. Trish yelped as she slammed back against the side of the building, bruising her shoulder and ribs. She clawed desperately at Giorno's arm to hold on tighter but her hands were barely working, numb, and still bound together. The door to the room was kicked open and more gunshots rang out, one whizzing by Giorno's head, clipping his hair on the way.

"Trish," he said breathlessly. "I need both hands. You have to let go, do you understand?"

"What?" she shrieked, clutching his wrist even tighter.

Giorno barely ducked another bullet and turned to shoot again. "Trish if you don't let go, neither of us are getting out of here." He met her eyes briefly. "Trust me."

Trish gulped, and then did one of the hardest things she had ever done. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let go of Giorno.

She fell, the night air rushing past her. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, not wanting to see the drop, the incoming ground…

And then she touched something soft and springy, a net that softened her fall and cradled her halfway down the building. Trish finally pried her eyes open, looking around in awe to see green. Giorno had turned one of the balconies below into a net of ivy.

She sobbed in relief, and a second later, a zipper appeared in the wall and Bucciarati slid halfway out, looking just as relieved as she did, reaching out to her.

"Come here cara mio."

She gratefully rolled toward him and he pulled her through into the building, using Sticky Fingers to relieve her of the ropes still tied tightly around her forearms.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked softly.

Trish instantly threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder, ignoring how much her body hurt from being in that position for almost an hour, how numb her hands were. "No, not too badly."

He hummed and held her tightly. "I'm glad you're all right. The boys are just cleaning everything up now. Let's get you out to the car."

He simply picked her up, Trish's legs too wobbly to stand very well, and they made their way out of the building to the car parked outside on the street.

By the time they got there, Giorno was already back with the others, looking a little rough, but unharmed.

"Dude! Turning the money in the bag into scorpions was an amazing idea!" Narancia was crowing, as Giorno gave him a tired grin.

Bucciarati set Trish down carefully as they made it to the car, and she instantly staggered forward, throwing her arms around Giorno.

"Thank you," she told him as he hugged her back after a few seconds of being surprised.

"I told you you could trust me," he said softly.

"We're just really glad to have you back," Narancia said as he and Mista also joined in the hug. Trish felt warm and safe now with her family. She may not have chosen this life, but she couldn't have asked for better people to spend it with.

"Come on, I'm sure Trish would like to get back home," Bucciarati said quietly to the others, motioning to Abbacchio and Fugo who were in the front seat, Fugo with a phone in his hand probably calling in for a clean-up.

Trish sank into the back of the van between Giorno and Narancia and passed out almost instantly, knowing she was definitely safe now.

Chapter 2: Talking is Overrated: Caesar

Summary:

Caesar comes across someone on the street from his old life who has a grudge against him.

Notes:

Caesar whump today!

Prompts used: garrotte | choking

Caesar checked his watch as he walked along a back street from the shop he had been at previously. It was almost time to meet up with Joseph to head back to Air Supplena but he was sure the insufferable Brit would be late.

He shifted the bags of supplies he was carrying and glanced up at the sky. It was already getting close to sundown and he had hoped to be back on the island by then. But here he was, at the agreed upon spot, and Joseph was nowhere to be seen.

That was why, when he heard footsteps behind him, he didn't think anything of it. He was getting ready to chew Joseph out.

Until he caught something glint in the darkness out of the corner of his eye and slide around his neck.

With the instincts of a warrior and those honed from a life on the streets, Caesar instantly dropped the bags and was able to get his hand up between the thin wire and the soft flesh of his throat before the garotte tightened. It cut through his glove and into the flesh of his palm instead, but Caesar was quick to form a layer of Hamon between the two, putting a buffer around the wire.

His assailant chuckled as he yanked Caesar backwards, further into the alley.

The Hamon user wasn't going to go that easily though. He gritted his teeth and used the garrote wire as a conductor to send Hamon surging back toward the man who held it.

A sharp cry sounded out and the wire was dropped, allowing Caesar to spin around and fall into a fighting position.

Seeing a familiar face.

His attacker glanced up, obviously recognizing him as well.

"Well, well, if it isn't Caesar Zeppeli," he said.

"Marzio," Caesar spat.

"Haven't seen you around for a while now," Marzio said. "Heard you had left the streets. Got yourself a fancy life."

Caesar straightened up. "I did. I'm not that man anymore."

"Oh yeah?" Marzio spat. "You think you're better than us then? After all the men you beat to death with your favorite wrench?"

"What do you want?" Caesar huffed, getting annoyed, hating to have to face unpleasant memories of a past life he had wanted to forget.

"I want recompense!" Marzio growled. "You were always one step ahead of me, got all the goods. Forced me to scrape my way to the top with a feeble crew. I'd be way better off now if you hadn't ruined my chances back in the day."

"Take what you want, I'm not stopping you now," Caesar said, turning to grab his bags again. "I left that life a long time ago."

As he turned, he realized that several rough-looking men had crept up behind him and more were appearing in the other end of the alley, making their way toward Marzio, closing Caesar in on both sides.

Caesar quickly calculated. There were a lot of them. Even with all his training, it would be hard for him to take them all out, and Marzio was not a man to be messed with.

Joseph really had chosen a fine day to be late.

Caesar knew he wasn't getting out of here without a fight, so he decided to make the first move. He threw the bags at one of the men and summoned his Hamon bubbles, throwing them out.

Confused, the men allowed the bubbles to hit them, shocked cries sounding out as they were thrown backwards. Caesar turned around as several of the other thugs rushed him, kicking out at one and throwing a Hamon-filled punch toward another.

A punishing kick slammed into Caesar's knee, staggering him, and a punch caught him in the jaw as he faltered. He managed to make several more Hamon bubbles, but another blow to the ribs threw his breathing off for a vital second.

This time, Caesar wasn't fast enough to get his hand up to make a barrier between his neck and the wire Marzio hurriedly wrapped around his neck again.

"Look at you," the thug sneered as Caesar clawed at the wire, desperately trying to keep it from cutting into his skin. "The great Caesar Zeppeli. Not so great now, are you? I'd be willing to say you've gone soft."

Caesar struggled for breath, trying to use his Hamon to fight back, but someone kicked him in the ribs again and Marzio hauled him back against his chest so he could get a better grip on the garrote.

Caesar gasped, clawing at the wire. He could feel darkness encroaching on his vision; his legs weakening. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't use Hamon because he couldn't get a breath in!

He slumped, a dead weight against Marzio, eyes rolling up into his head and fluttering closed. He couldn't believe, after everything, it was going to end like this.

"Hey!"

Something slammed into Marzio from the side, and the man cried out, dropping Caesar who collapsed to the ground, choking as he weakly reached up to grasp at the constricting wire around his throat.

He could hear shouts, muffled through his ringing ears, before feet pounded down the alley away from him.

"Caesar!"

Boots appeared in front of his blurry vision and he was rolled onto his back, his hands pushed away from his neck before more dexterous fingers pulled the wire from around his throat.

Caesar coughed and choked as his airway was finally free, wetness pricking his eyes from the pain.

"Easy, just breathe slowly."

Caesar finally recognized Joseph's voice.

"Who the hell were those guys, anyway? Friends of yours?"

Caesar groaned. "Sh-shut up…JoJo."

"Well that's not a very nice thing to say to the guy who saved you from getting your head cut off with piano wire."

Caesar pried his eyes open, glancing up to see Joseph's slightly indignant expression. Caesar weakly punched him in the knee. "You were late."

Joseph's indignation continued for only a fraction of a second before it changed to something more somber. "Sorry."

Caesar pushed himself upright, a hand around his throat. It would be bruised for a while, but thankfully it didn't seem like the wire had broken the skin.

"No…I should thank you," he croaked. "He would have killed me."

Joseph's face softened before he smirked. "Well, a thank you is good enough for me. Let's get going then, huh? Who was that guy anyway?"

Caesar groaned as Joseph helped him to his feet, offering him a shoulder to lean on.

"Just…someone from a past I would rather forget," Caesar said.

Joseph nodded as if he understood. "It's best to leave the past in the past, Ceasarino. It's better to look to the future."

Caesar glanced up at him from the corner of his eye. "What's this? Something that could actually be mistaken as wise coming from your mouth?"

"Shut up," Joseph said, elbowing him in the ribs, hitting a bruise. Caesar grunted and punched him back, harder. Joseph yelped indignantly.

Caesar smiled to himself. As much as he pretended to be annoyed by Joseph—and sometimes genuinely was—he was still glad to have him as a friend.

 

Notes:

Tomorrow will be a Supernatural fic, but more JoJo is coming, don't worry!

Chapter 3: Trust Fall: Abbacchio

Summary:

Abbacchio and Risotto team up for a mission but it doesn't go exactly how they planned.

Notes:

I wanted to branch out and use Whumptober as an excuse to start writing some more La Squadra centric fics, so here is an Abbacchio and Risotto team-up

Prompts used: "do you trust me?" | taken hostage

Risotto Nero glanced over at his passenger, somewhat wary. He knew Bucciarati's men were in high standing among the members of Passione, but he still didn't care much for working with people outside of his own crew, and even then, he usually did most of his missions solo.

Leone Abbacchio wasn't exactly an easy man to work with either, to be fair. Even now, he seemed just as annoyed to have been partnered up as Risotto was, glowering out the window, one foot braced against the dashboard and arms crossed over his chest.

"I trust you were briefed?" Risotto asked.

Abbacchio turned to narrow his eyes at him. "Of course. I don't make a habit of going on missions I know nothing about with anyone outside my team."

Risotto pressed his lips together. "It shouldn't take long if everything goes to plan."

Abbacchio slid his foot back down to the floor and turned to look out the window again. "Then let's make sure it does."

Risotto was at least in agreement on that one. He was nothing if not efficient, hence why he usually preferred working alone. But for this mission, he would need Abbacchio's particular skillset.

"You drive really slow," Abbacchio grunted, annoyance clear in his voice.

Risotto's hands tightened on the wheel, but didn't go faster than his usual two kilometers under the speed limit. They would get there in plenty of time.

When they finally got to the location, Risotto parked on the side of the street and they got out and headed around the other side of the building to go in the back.

"This is where you come in," Risotto told Abbacchio.

The other man glanced around as if getting his bearings. "I need the date and time and who I'm looking for."

When Risotto relayed the information, he saw the Stand aura ripple around Abbacchio before the goth turned to glower at Risotto.

"Turn around," he said suddenly.

Risotto frowned. "What?"

"I don't let anyone outside my team see my Stand or how it works. You can look when the replay starts."

Risotto refrained from huffing an annoyed breath and simply turned and headed back for the door. "Call me when you're ready."

He was only standing outside for a couple minutes before a car pulled up further down the street, catching his attention. Risotto frowned, instinctively ducking out of view as he waited to see if this was going to be a problem.

As luck would have it, it was the crew he had been sent with the instructions to take out.

They were not supposed to have showed up today, hence why he'd decided this was a good time to investigate. This was just going to make things more complicated, but at the same time, now he wouldn't have to go look for his target.

Risotto thought quickly, then slipped back inside.

Abbacchio looked up at him with a glower, his Stand currently in the process of morphing. "I didn't call you," he growled.

"We have company," Risotto told him.

Abbacchio instantly dismissed his Stand, on the alert. "Who?"

"The target," Risotto growled. "I didn't expect him to show his face back here again so soon."

"Well what the hell happened then? Did we trip something?" Abbacchio demanded, looking around.

"I don't know but we need to think of something fast." Risotto needed a plan. And there was only one thing he could think of at the moment.

"Do you trust me?" he asked Abbacchio abruptly.

The goth's eyes narrowed. "Do I have a choice?" he grunted.

"Not really," Risotto said and took a knife from his pocket, reaching out to grab Abbacchio's wrist. Before the other mafioso could protest, Risotto had slashed the blade across his flesh, pushing Metallica into the wound to get to work.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Abbacchio shouted, trying to pull away, but Risotto's Stand was already forming his blood into a pair of cuffs.

"You're going to be my hostage." He explained as he grabbed Abbacchio's other wrist, snapping the second cuff around it. "Just play along."

Abbacchio looked furious, but they had run out of time to argue as the door to the building opened and the target, along with several bruisers, stepped in.

The bruisers instantly drew guns when they saw Risotto and Abbacchio, but Risotto raised his hand.

"What are you doing here?" the leader demanded.

Risotto took a step forward, hand still clenched around Abbacchio's arm. "I came to offer you a deal. I brought a gift." He threw Abbacchio to his knees and grabbed a handful of his hair to lift his head up. He could practically feel Abbacchio seething, but he didn't have the time to worry about that right now. He would deal with the repercussions later.

"Why would I want him?" the gang leader asked.

"Because he's one of Bucciarati's men. I'm sure you're aware of how much Polpo likes Bucciarati. Taking one of his men hostage practically assures a payout."

"Then why don't you handle the trade?" the leader demanded.

Risotto forced himself to smirk slightly. "Because I know working with you will give me an even better payout and I could use more cash to up my status in Passione. I thought I'd give you the opportunity in good faith."

"You're quite bold," the leader said. "I appreciate that. I also wouldn't mind having someone like you on my payroll, Risotto Nero. I could use an attack dog to take out anyone who happens to displease me."

Risotto bristled slightly at that, but nodded as if pleased. "Then we have a deal?"

The leader nodded back. "We'll work out the details in a little bit. For now, let me have the hostage."

Risotto hauled Abbacchio to his feet and gave him a firm push toward the other group. One of the bruisers grabbed him roughly and Abbacchio turned to glower at Risotto.

"Now…" the leader said, before he nodded to Risotto. "Shoot him."

Risotto actually hadn't been expecting the deception to be blown that soon, but he was ready, because he always was. That's how he had stayed alive for so long.

He'd already had Metallica working with Abbacchio's cuffs as he used his invisibility trick, slipping to one side.

The thugs' guns went up, before shock lit their faces as Risotto turned invisible in front of them.

Abbacchio took the chance as Risotto had hoped he would. With the cuffs open he reached up, grabbing the gun of the guard behind him and using it to shoot two more in the head before the rest hopped into gear and tackled him.

Several more gunshots rang out as Risotto came up behind the leader and leaned in so he could whisper in his ear. "The Boss knows you betrayed him. Thanks for saving me the time of having to find you."

The gang leader choked, reaching up to his throat as something rippled beneath his skin. The next second, he doubled over, coughing up razor blades, before he slumped on the ground in a pool of blood.

Risotto returned to visibility, glancing over to Abbacchio who was standing over the last guard, kicking him in the side to make sure he was dead.

"Well, I guess that's done then," he said, throwing the gun onto the floor with distaste before he glanced down at a tear in his sleeve, wincing as he peeled the fabric aside to reveal a bullet graze to the shoulder.

"Easier than expected," Risotto said.

Abbacchio snorted. "You didn't have to be a hostage."

"My plan worked," Risotto protested and stepped over to him. "Here, let me."

Abbacchio stared at him warily before he offered his injured arm to Risotto. The hitman peeled the fabric aside and summoned Metallica to make tiny metal stitches in his arm.

"Those will disappear once the wound is healed," Risotto explained. "They're just made from the iron in your blood."

"Huh," Abbacchio said, craning his neck to see. "That's pretty handy."

Risotto allowed his mouth to turn up at one side.

"We should get this cleaned up," he said.

Abbacchio nodded and they started to shift the bodies around, disposing of weapons. "I guess," the goth said reluctantly. "That we don't make a terrible team."

Risotto smirked as he straightened up and wiped his hands on his coat. "No, I guess we don't."

"But," Abbacchio added. "If we ever work together again and need to get out of a tight spot, you're going to be the hostage."

Risotto shrugged. "I suppose that's fair."

 

Chapter 4: I've Got Red in my Ledger: Prosciutto

Summary:

Prosciutto's first job does not turn out how he expects when he comes face to face with a past he has tried to forget.

Notes:

A Prosciutto centric fic for today's prompt! This is kind of an idea I have been thinking about for a while concerning Prosciutto's backstory and maybe I'll expand on this someday, but I don't know. I'm sorry this is dark, but it's only to be assumed that hitmen have pretty dark pasts, right?

Warnings: contains implications of past sexual abuse but nothing graphic.

Prompts used: betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

Prosciutto entered the church, fingers itching to cross himself on habit, be he wouldn't. He wasn't here for absolution.

He hadn't batted an eye when Risotto had told him where he would find his target, after all, it wasn't an assassin's job to think, it was just his job to go in and take out the target.

There was no one else in the church this late and he slipped toward the back, sitting down in one of the pews, hands in his pockets, waiting for his target to make an appearance.

"Can I help you?"

Prosciutto stiffened, both because the man had somehow come up behind him without him noticing, and also because his voice…

The hitman turned slowly, already realizing his mistake not only in how he had approached this job, but in thinking that Risotto Nero would have given him something easy for his first solo mission.

That bastard.

Prosciutto could only sit there, staring at a face that still haunted his nightmares—older now, but still having that quality of false kindness, someone you could trust until you allowed him too close and…

Prosciutto stood, taller than this monster now, and yet, somehow still feeling so small. It seemed that no amount of years or training could erase the scared little boy this degenerate bastard had put his hands on.

The priest's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Prosciutto while he was frozen, unable to say anything.

"You look familiar. Do I know you, my son? Maybe from when you were a boy?" There was a glint in his eyes and Prosciutto felt the urge to run.

But he swallowed hard instead, his well-practiced demeanor staying in place if not only barely. "I'm not your son," he spat.

He should do it now, he should bring out Grateful Dead and finish it. But though he could feel his Stand roiling under his skin, he was almost too frozen to manifest it.

It was too late by then anyway, because recognition had finally lit up in the man's eyes.

"I remember now," he said with a slippery smile. "Prosciutto, yes? You were always such a good little alter boy. Always so eager to please. Funny, isn't it, that you find your way back to me after all these years. Is there something I can do for you?"

Prosciutto finally forced himself to move. Away, toward the exit. He couldn't gather his thoughts. He would come back later when he could think straight, when this man wasn't looking at him.

"Now, hold on a second—"

The priest grabbed his arm.

Prosciutto spun, slamming his fist into the man's face, causing him to collapse to the ground with a cry of surprise.

He didn't stop there. Prosciutto didn't even think of calling out Grateful Dead, he just grabbed a candle stand from nearby and started beating the man's skull in.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted. "Don't you dare touch me, you piece of shit!"

He didn't stop until he felt justified for the boy whose innocence had been lost, who had learned never to trust anyone ever again. He didn't stop until everything was red.

Prosciutto stood there, breathing heavily, hand still clutching the candle stand that he finally let fall with a clatter. He knew he had screwed up, but at the moment, he didn't care. He hurried out of the church.

Risotto found him back at the apartment, while he was bent over the sink in the bathroom, scrubbing blood from his hands and face.

"What the hell was that, Prosciutto?" Risotto snapped. "I thought you of all people wouldn't be the one to screw up something so monumentally! It was supposed to look like a heart attack and you left a pile of brains and blood."

Prosciutto yanked the facet to turn it off, rounding on Risotto. "Why the hell did you send me on that mission?"

Risotto looked at him incredulously. "You needed to prove you can handle yourself. I thought this would be a good place to start. If you'd had reservations about killing the priest—"

"How the hell did you know?" he cut his leader off. "I never told anyone that!"

"Know what?" Risotto growled.

Prosciutto, still not thinking clearly, hauled back and slammed his fist into Risotto's nose.

"Fuck you!" he shouted. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Risotto looked more shocked than angry as he reached up to wipe at the blood that had started slowly dripping from his nose.

"I don't, actually," Risotto replied. "So maybe you should enlighten me."

Prosciutto was beyond furious. "Where do you get off on lying? I know I screwed up, but what the hell was I supposed to do when I walked in there and saw the man who abused me as a child?! I didn't exactly expect that. I thought you had a policy about personal hits?"

Risotto froze and stared at him, his dark eyes boring into Prosciutto who did everything he could not to look away.

"Prosciutto," he said more calmly, shaking his head as he wiped more blood on the back of his hand. "I didn't know."

Prosciutto speared his boss with a piercing look. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to trust me, yes," Risotto said. "And I promise you that I didn't know anything about that. It…it wasn't me who chose this hit for you. I was just relaying what I was told, and…I will take full responsibility for what happened."

Prosciutto slumped back against the sink, hands braced behind him. "No, I lost my head and that was unforgivable, even taking into account the circumstances. This was meant to be a true test and I know I failed. I'll handle whatever reparations need to be made."

Something passed over Risotto's face and he shook his head. "I lead this team, it's my responsibility. All the Boss has to know is that the job was done."

Prosciutto's head snapped up, incredulous.

"I take care of my team," Risotto told him firmly. "Don't forget that. I don't lie to them and I don't betray them."

Prosciutto's shoulders relaxed slightly, though the rest of him was still tense.

Risotto studied him for a long moment. "Did it feel good?" he finally asked.

Prosciutto looked down at the blood staining his shirt, some still spattered across his chest and throat. "It might not erase the past but…yes. It felt good," he replied with conviction.

Risotto nodded as if in understanding and turned around to leave Prosciutto to clean up, glancing over his shoulder once to say, "Next time, though, I expect you to fulfill the mission as commanded."

Prosciutto nodded stiffly and Risotto closed the door behind him. Prosciutto slumped to the floor of the bathroom and pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one up.

Maybe it was time to finally put that boy from long ago to rest.

 

Chapter 5: My Spidey-Sense is Tingling: Jolyne

Summary:

Jolyne refuses to be seen as a scardey-cat by her classmates, but it turns out it's a really bad idea to go into old, broken down houses.

Notes:

A kid Jolyne fic for today's prompt.

My headcanon for the day is that I think Jolyne's stand ability was latent even as a child so she could see Star Platinum, especially in a state of heightened adrenaline.

Prompts used: helplessness | numbness | blindness

"I bet you're too chicken to go in there."

Jolyne bristled, folding her arms over her chest as she glowered at the two other girls. Kara and Sophia were only a couple years older than her but they thought they knew so much.

"I am not," she protested, stomping her foot.

Sophia put her hands on her hips. "Then prove it."

Jolyne growled low in her throat, trying to ignore the creepy old house that was standing behind her back. It had been abandoned for a long time, and was on the way to Jolyne's school so a lot of the kids had all kinds of creepy rumors about it. It was definitely haunted, Jolyne was sure, not to mention falling down. Part of her knew how stupid it would be to actually go in there, but on the other hand…if she did go in and nothing happened to her (which her rational side said was the most likely outcome since ghosts probably weren't real) then she could only gain respect from all her classmates as well as the older kids.

And maybe then Kara and Sophia would shut up and stop bothering her so much.

"Fine," Jolyne finally said. "I'll do it. I'll go in there."

The two older girls looked shocked, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. "Y-you're actually doing it?"

"Yeah," Jolyne said with a nonchalant pfft, trying to play off how scared she actually was. "It's nothing."

"Okay," Kara said carefully, folding her arms over her chest. "If you're going to do it, you have to bring something out or no one will believe you."

"Easy," Jolyne said and turned around; better to get this over with. "Well? Are you coming or what?"

Kara and Sophia shared a somewhat worried look, but they followed Jolyne over to the house.

The three of them stepped onto the rickety old porch, which bent even under Jolyne's light weight. She knew that she shouldn't be doing this, but she ignored her better instincts and decided to push on and prove to these girls that she wasn't a baby.

"Well, are you gonna go in?" Sophia pushed.

"Yeah!" Jolyne returned sharply and reached out for the door. It was already mostly falling off its hinges and swung open with little effort. She swallowed hard and stepped inside.

The inside of the house was really dark, the windows were so dirty and covered with spider webs they didn't let a lot of light in. She crept forward, looking for something she could quickly grab and make her retreat with her prize.

There was a shelf near the back wall of what Jolyne thought must be the living room, that looked like it had some things still on it. She summoned her courage and headed over there.

The floor creaked ominously with every step, sometimes bending downward. Jolyne went carefully, afraid she would fall through.

But she finally got through to the shelf and started to pick through the things there, cringing at the amount of dust and disgusting spider webs. She looked around and reached for a stick to help clear it off.

Something ran out of the shadows and darted across the floor.

Jolyne screamed and jumped back, slamming into the shelf and feeling it teeter.

Everything happened at once.

The shelf slammed into the floor and Jolyne fell on top of it, forcing it through the rotten boards. She scrambled as she felt the thing start to fall, slivers digging into her hands, but she couldn't stop it.

The rotten floor gave way and the shelf crashed down. Jolyne could only curl up and cover her head, her ears exploding from the rending, crashing sounds, as she slammed into something hard, hearing the crack of wood before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~

Jolyne woke to pitch blackness.

She was terrified, but she couldn't move. Something was pressing down on top of her. She could see nothing, not even the hand she somehow freed and brought to her face, touching a sore spot on her cheek and feeling something sticky.

Was she blind? Or was it really that dark? How had this happened?

And then she remembered—the house. She had gone in the house. She knew she shouldn't have done that and now she was trapped there. No one would ever find her again.

"M-Mommy!" Jolyne whimpered, coughing on dust that still seemed to be settling in the small space. "Daddy!"

But no one replied. Of course not. They didn't even know she was here. Only Kara and Sophia did and Jolyne was sure they had just run away. They wouldn't come to help her.

Desperation wormed its way into her chest, making her frantic. She fought to move whatever was pinning her, but couldn't make it budge. It was so heavy and it hurt when she moved too much. She couldn't feel her other hand either. It was numb, she didn't even know where it was in this darkness. What if it wasn't even attached to her anymore?

Tears started to well up and Jolyne let out a whimper, burying her face in her arm as she let out terrified sobs. She never should have come in here. She should have just gone home. Now she would probably never see her home or her Mommy and Daddy again. And for what? To prove herself to some stupid girls?

Jolyne cried harder, lying limply under the debris until a huge crashing sounded out and Jolyne felt terror welling up inside her throat, stealing her breath. Was the rest of the house falling down now? Would it crush her completely?

And then something shifted on top of her and there was a glow, no, a glowing figure standing in front of her—purple, with long, flowing black hair.

Jolyne screamed. This was it. The house was really haunted and now the ghost was here to kill her.

Except instead of crushing her further, it heaved the debris off of her with an angry shout, leaving Jolyne to breathe freely again. She sobbed as it reached for her.

"No, please," she cried, trying to shuffle away.

"Ora," the ghost said softly and simply scooped her up in its arms, not hurting her, not crushing her, just holding her gently.

Jolyne didn't know what to think, could only stare at the ghost's eyes that looked strangely familiar, bringing comfort to her.

"Jolyne!"

A second later another pair of arms were around her, hands checking her frantically as Jolyne was pressed against a white coat, familiar arms cradling her as she could feel the hitch of breath beneath her ear.

"Thank god, thank god," the murmurs were broken in a way Jolyne had never heard her father's voice crack and when she looked up, she saw tears in his eyes as he carried her out to the light, still holding her tightly.

The next bit was a blur for her. Ending up at the hospital where her mom met them, frantic. Jolyne only had a broken wrist and a sprained ankle among other bruises, but nothing more serious than that.

It wasn't until after the doctor left that she turned to her dad who had been standing at her side the entire time and asked. "Daddy, did you see the ghost?"

Jotaro blinked and turned to her. "What ghost, sweetheart?"

"The one who saved me," Jolyne said. "I saw a giant glowing ghost who pulled me out of the rubble."

Her father looked at her for a long time, something almost sad washing over him for a second before his expression changed and he shook his head. "No. I didn't see anything. You were probably just dreaming."

Jolyne had never had a dream like that, but right now she was too tired to think about it much. She was simply happy to let her dad pick her up and carry her when the doctor said they could leave. She was asleep before she even got to the car, and when she woke up later, she thought she must have dreamed the ghost after all.

 

Chapter 6: Coughing Up a Lung: Abbacchio

Summary:

Abbacchio is determined to pass his stubborn cough off as just a cold, but it turns out that it's something much more serious.

Notes:

Post part 5 everyone lives AU because I feel like Abbacchio would have some complications from his injuries.

Prompts used: pneumothorax | definitely just a cold

(spoiler alert: it's definitely not just a cold)

Abbacchio rubbed his chest as he sat in the car, watching while Narancia went to scout ahead. He fought back the urge to cough and cringed. He didn't know what he'd caught the last couple days, but his lungs and chest had ached almost nonstop and he'd had a pretty bad cough. Still, it wasn't anything bad enough to keep him from doing this mission.

He cleared his throat with a wince as Narancia ran back to the car and got in.

"They're in there," he said, pointing to the building across the street. "You ready to go in?"

Abbacchio nodded and picked up his walky-talky that they were using, calling Mista who was on the other side. "We've pinned down the targets. We're going in as planned."

"Got it," Mista said.

Abbacchio and Narancia got out of the car and headed in, Abbacchio pulling a gun from the back of his belt. He wasn't really in the mood for hand-to-hand combat that day. Especially when taking down a couple of two-bit drug dealers.

Of course, once the fight broke out, he had to throw those hopes out the window as one guy who happened to be inordinately huge, barreled toward him and slammed him into the wall, forcing the gun out of his hand before slamming a knee up into his solar plexus, which did him no favors in his current condition.

While he was unable to do anything but wheeze air back into his abused lungs, He saw Mista out of the corner of his eye, leveling his pistol at the man's head.

The drug dealer went toppling to the ground, forcing Abbacchio to roll to the side to avoid being crushed.

He coughed, trying to breathe while his chest was on fire, and Mista hurried over to help pull him to his feet.

"You okay?" the gunman demanded.

Abbacchio furiously blinked wetness from his eyes caused by the choking and nodded, concentrating solely on breathing.

"That's all of them," Narancia said as he came up.

"Good," Abbacchio forced out, trying to straighten up, one hand still pressed to his chest. "Let's call in the cleanup crew."

Narancia looked at him with a frown. "Your lips are going blue Abba—unless you got a new shade of lipstick."

Abbacchio glowered at him, still fighting the need to cough which only made everything hurt worse. "Can't breathe, dumbass!"

Mista took pity on him and gripped his shoulder to help him out to the car. "Come on, let's get back to let Giorno and Bucciarati know how it went."

Abbacchio slumped tiredly in the car, letting Mista drive as he focused on breathing. Mista glanced over at him.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

Abbacchio leaned his head back. "Just this damn cold. I'll be fine."

Truth was, it was probably only so bad because his lungs were jacked up from getting punched through the chest. Giorno may have healed him but he had noticed a slight discrepancy in his breathing on occasion, especially when he overexerted himself. He thought the patch job might have left some scarring that would never heal fully. Still, it was better than being dead.

They got back to the house and made their report. Abbacchio got through it without being too short of breath, even though his chest still ached enough to make him only take the smallest of breaths. It was actually starting to get really bad, he realized. Far worse than it had been before. Now there was sharp pain added to the constant ache. Had he broken a rib during the fight or something? It definitely felt like it.

"Thank you for handling that," Giorno told them.

Abbacchio muffled a cough in his elbow and just barely refrained from gasping when the pain spiked through his chest again.

He felt Bucciarati's eyes pin him in place. "Leone, you look exhausted. You really shouldn't have gone out on a mission when you were still feeling so poorly."

"Just a cold," Abbacchio croaked, hunching slightly in an attempt to ease the pain in his chest. God, it felt like something was pressing against his lungs, squeezing them.

"You should go sit down," Bucciarati urged. "Narancia, why don't you make Abbacchio some tea with honey and lemon?"

Narancia hurried off as Bucciarati pushed Abbacchio gently in the shoulder, urging him to go to the living room.

Abbacchio didn't really have the breath to protest at the moment. He slumped into a chair and closed his eyes, again trying to concentrate on breathing, but it just seemed to get harder and harder. Everything seemed like a huge effort, every breath. His heart was pounding in his chest more than it should have been. He startled when someone touched his shoulder.

"Abbacchio, you don't look very good."

Giorno's concerned face came into view as Abbacchio pried his eyes open with great effort. "'M fine, kid, promise. Just probably should… take it easy…for a while."

It took way too long to get that sentence out and Abbacchio felt the tickle in his throat that would cause him to cough. He tried to suppress it but was unable to and turned away from Giorno, curling into himself as he coughed, wrapping his arms around his aching chest.

This time though, he couldn't seem to stop. Every time he tried to get a breath it felt like something was simply squeezing it back out of his lungs which forced him to cough again in some attempt to breathe.

"Leone!"

He didn't realize he was toppling out of the chair until he felt hands grab him, trying to keep him upright, but the agony that was currently ripping through Abbacchio's core kept him doubled over. He choked and something hot hit the hand he had pressed to his mouth. He thought at first it might be vomit as he was nearly choking, but as he blinked at his hand, he saw spatters of red.

The others obviously saw it too because they suddenly went into action.

"Get him on his back, we need to get him on a flat surface," Giorno's voice filtered in and Abbacchio was suddenly manhandled onto his back and forced to uncurl. The act sent agony through him.

Someone ripped his coat open and he saw the glow of Gold Experience as Giorno bent to press his ear against Abbacchio's chest.

"I think…he might be suffering from air in his chest," Giorno said worriedly.

Abbacchio couldn't figure out why that might be the case, but he couldn't think of anything else but trying to breathe as Giorno rushed out of the room, only to come back a second later, holding something in his hand.

Bucciarati had moved around to Abbacchio's head, hands pressing hard into his shoulders.

"Easy," he commanded, and Abbacchio tried to hold still for a brief moment as Giorno stabbed him in the side with some kind of blunt object.

Abbacchio let out a strangled scream, and, amazingly, found that he mostly had the breath for it. In fact, aside from the pain, it was getting easier to breathe again.

That didn't keep his body from deciding it had had enough though, and Abbacchio, frankly, wasn't too upset to let himself fall unconscious.

~~~~~~~

Abbacchio didn't know how much later he woke up, but he felt like he'd been asleep for days. He also noticed he was in his bed, in his pajamas, and there was significantly less pain in his chest.

He was most surprised to see a golden head of slightly unkept hair resting on folded arms near his shoulder, Giorno slumped over in a chair beside his bed with a blanket draped over his shoulders.

Abbacchio groaned experimentally, throat dry, and lips cracked.

Giorno started and his head shot up, relief in his eyes as he met Abbacchio's. "You're awake."

Abbacchio blinked tiredly, shifting before a small dull ache had him deciding against that. "Yeah. Wha' 'appened?"

Giorno straightened up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Well, from what I could tell, you had some scar tissue in your lungs from when I healed your injuries. One of the spots must have weakened at some point and started to let air through into your chest cavity. Fugo said it's called a pneumothorax."

Abbacchio blinked, trying to take it all in. Giorno shifted slightly. "I um…I thought it would be easiest just to replace your lungs, so this didn't happen again." He shrugged. "I hope you weren't two attached to that pair of shoes. They were the perfect size."

Abbacchio's hands went to his chest instantly, slipping beneath his shirt as if he could feel anything. But there wasn't so much as a scar. "You…you ripped my lungs out?" he croaked.

"Only for a second," Giorno said defensively. "And thanks to Bucciarati's help with Sticky Fingers, we were able to take them out and put the new ones in easily with little to no damage. You don't even have any surgery scars."

Abbacchio slumped back into the pillows, slightly unnerved by all of it, but…he was grateful.

"You should probably rest a little while though," Giorno cautioned. "Make sure everything's working okay."

Abbacchio nodded and watched as Giorno stood. "I'll go tell the others you're awake. They've been worried."

Abbacchio let his eyes close wearily with a hum of acknowledgement, then cracked one open again in afterthought.

"Hey, kid. Thanks."

Giorno gave him a small smile before he continued on his way out the door.

 

Chapter 7: Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated: Caesar

Summary:

Joseph goes after Caesar when he runs off to fight Whamuu. Will he get to his friend in time?

Notes:

A part 2 AU for today! Because I just need more of those.

Prompts Used: presumed dead | (blind) rage | tears

Joseph barreled into the old broken-down hotel, heart in his throat. After finding Messina lying outside in the snow, only barely alive, he had no idea what sort of condition Caesar was in but he had a feeling it was bad.

He never should have let Caesar go off alone. He should have followed him the instant he ran off, apologized, pleaded with him to form some sort of plan to attack the Pillar Men. If anything had happened to him, Joseph wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself.

He kicked the door open, staggering to a stop in the entrance. He instantly took in the scene on top of the stairs and he froze in horror.

Wamuu stood there, bloody, beaten, but obviously the victor. He held Caesar's limp form in front of him.

"Wamuu!" Joseph shouted. "You bastard, let him go! This was our fight!"

"It can still be our fight," Wamuu told him. "After all, your friend was not strong enough to face me. He was too rash. Perhaps you will learn from his mistake."

Wamuu then dropped Caesar's body over the railing to crash below in some rubble from the fight, horribly still.

"Caesar! NO!" Joseph screamed, fury and pain tearing through him. Hamon surged through his body and he whipped out his clackers. "Wamuu, you bastard! I'll kill you for this! I'll kill you!"

He rushed forward, leaping up the stairs as he swung the clackers, infusing them with Hamon.

Wamuu eyed him. "You do seem to have grown in strength since the last time we fought, however, your fury is clouding your judgement."

Joseph ignored him and with a furious shout, he threw the bolo at the Pillar Man.

Wamuu ducked but Joseph hadn't been aiming directly at him either. The clackers whipped around his head, and Joseph sent his other set flying, which struck the Pillar Man high in the shoulder while he was focused on the first attack. He staggered back a step, blood spattering.

"You are stronger," Wamuu said as Joseph reached up to catch the returning clackers and began to swing them again, Hamon crackling through the air. "But, as I suspected, your grief has clouded your judgement. I feel almost petty fighting you right now.

"You coward!" Joseph screamed "I'm not letting you get away with this!"

He used Sunlight Overdrive, throwing the energy from the tips of his fingers. Spears of light flew toward Wamuu and the Pillar Man had to leap out of the way. Joseph wasted little time in throwing his clackers again.

And then Wamuu was in front of him, catching the clackers and swiftly throwing them back. Joseph dove out of the way as they slammed into the wall, sticking into the plaster.

Joseph rolled and came up onto his feet as he felt the wind starting to pick up, knowing Wamuu was beginning to use Devine Sandstorm.

"I'll give you one chance to leave, JoJo," the Pillar Man told him. "We were not destined to meet again quite yet. You can come find me again when you have found your head. I'll even let you take the little Hamon User's body with you. You have my honor as a warrior."

Joseph let loose a furious growl and threw caution to the winds, pushing in close to get inside of Wamuu's arms.

But the Pillar Man caught him around the throat, gagging him, closing off his airway so he couldn't use Hamon. He then threw Joseph halfway across the balcony at the top of the stairs, making him slam into the wall opposite.

The air was knocked from Joseph's lungs as he crumpled onto the ground. He gasped, pushing himself up shakily, trying to get his breath back as he summoned his power, but his Hamon was sputtering with his lack of proper breathing.

"I warned you this wouldn't end well, JoJo," Wamuu said. "I can understand the need for vengeance, but the lack of care you show for the warrior's code can only lead you to destruction. I thought better of you."

Joseph gave a desperate cry, breathing deeply before he shot Hamon up into the ceiling. A glass chandelier still hung in the center of the room and the crystals acted as prisms, shooting blinding rays of light in every direction.

Several struck Wamuu before he could draw back, piercing his flesh and burning it. He cried out in shock, ducking away from the damaging light source.

Joseph breathed steadily, keeping the flow of Hamon strong and steady.

"Try to come for me now, Wamuu," he said. "I don't think you'll make it."

He shifted the flow and caused harsher light to pierce the room, puncturing several other spots on Wamuu's body. The Pillar Man grunted, retreating further.

"Perhaps I underestimated you after all, JoJo," the ancient warrior said through clenched teeth. "You have put me in a tight spot and I was already wounded. What do you say we agree to meet at the appointed time?"

Joseph pulled himself to his feet, trying to keep up the light show he had going. "Wamuu, you coward! You're running away? You won't face me?"

The Pillar Man then seemed to slip into shadows and disappear, leaving Joseph blinking, furious.

"Wamuu!"

But the Pillar Man was gone. Joseph hadn't been able to take him out this time either. He'd failed again. Caesar had failed. If they had just been able to fight him together, if they had both gotten over their own stupid pride…

Joseph stopped the flow of Hamon to the prisms and retrieved his clackers before he staggered down the stairs, rushing to the spot Wamuu had thrown Caesar, discarding him like he was worth nothing.

"Caesar," Joseph choked out, tears streaming down his cheeks as he collapsed beside his friend's body, digging through the rubble to pull him out, cradling the limp form in his arms. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, before he bent to press his face into Caesar's blood-soaked shoulder, sobs racking his body.

"JoJo…"

Joseph stiffened, not sure he had actually heard the voice, but then it continued, "Why are you crying on me like a girl?"

Joseph pulled back, looking down into Caesar's bright green eyes which were half open and staring up at him.

"Caesar?" Joseph breathed. "You're…"

"Alive," Caesar said with a cough, wincing. "Barely."

"But I thought…how?"

"I think...Wamuu thought so too," Caesar said, coughing again. "Don't squeeze so hard."

Joseph loosened his hold and sat his friend up against his shoulder where Caesar sighed and slumped against him.

"Did you…kill him?" Caesar finally asked.

"No," Joseph growled. "Coward ran away."

"Doesn't matter…" Caesar told him.

"Why not?!"

Caesar raised one hand that he'd had clenched this whole time and opened it to show a small golden ring in his palm.

"Is that…?" Joseph demanded.

"Wamuu's lip ring," Caesar told him. "Tore it off during the fight."

Joseph took the ring and enclosed it in his hand. "Caesar," he said softly, then simply pocketed it. "No…I gave my word I would meet him in battle with honor. And I'll stand by that. However, I think we should face them together next time, don't you?"

Caesar sighed tiredly. "For once, I believe you're right."

"I'm sorry, Caesar, I never meant—"

"I know," Caesar cut in, looking genuine. "I am honored to have a friend like you, JoJo."

Joseph felt his chest warm, so grateful that his friend was still alive. He wiped the rest of the tears off his cheeks. "We should get you back to the hotel to tend your injuries."

Caesar groaned. "Not sure I can walk that far."

"Don't worry, I'll carry you," Joseph smirked.

Caesar rolled his eyes, but didn't protest as Joseph helped him onto his back and started out.

He was sure that whatever they faced in the future, and he was pretty sure it was going to be bad, at least they had each other to watch their backs.

 

Chapter 8: Oops, I did it Again: Josuke

Summary:

Sometimes the injuries from Josuke's fight with Kira still bother him, but the flare-ups aren't usually this bad.

Notes:

Josuke whump today! This is set post Part 4

Prompts used: hospital | flare-up | ice chips

"Hey Josuke! You wanna go outside for lunch today?"

Josuke glanced up at Koichi and Okuyasu who were waiting for him by their lockers as he stuffed the books in that he wouldn't need for the rest of the day.

"Yeah, sure," he said with a small smile, trying to sound cheery. He wasn't actually feeling that great though, if he were being honest. His stomach had been hurting kind of bad the last couple days, which made him feel slightly nauseous.

Josuke subconsciously pressed his hand against his side where the pain was stemming from. Even through his school jacket, he could feel the raised area from the scar there where he'd been impaled by debris in his fight against Kira. As soon as he realized what he was doing he snatched his hand away. Honestly, he tried to look at it as little as possible. He hated whenever he accidently brushed against the ropy, raised flesh there or on his leg, didn't like seeing it marring his flesh, remembering those long days in the hospital when he'd made the mistake of glancing at the fresh injuries as his bandages were changed and almost threw up.

But it wasn't anything he could do anything about, so he ignored the pains in his stomach and followed his friends outside to have lunch.

The fresh air was at least nice, but Josuke didn't eat a lot and hid the fact from Koichi and Okuyasu by stuffing the rest of his lunch into his bag as he sat with his knees curled up to his chest, wishing the pain digging through his insides would stop. Sometimes he got flare-ups from his scars, especially his leg which could hurt pretty bad if he overworked it, but this was worse than anything he'd felt yet. He really hoped nothing was seriously wrong.

After lunch they had another period and then gym class. Josuke really didn't feel up to doing gym that day, but didn't want to cause a scene by begging out, knowing if he said it was really bad, he'd just be sent to the nurse's office where someone would call his mom and he really didn't want to worry her after everything that had already happened.

So, he suffered through stretches until everyone decided it was a good idea to play dodgeball that day. Josuke groaned, hoping he got hit soon so he could sit on the sidelines for as long as possible.

He did get hit, pretty quickly, but it did not have the desired effect.

The ball slammed into his side, right where his scar was.

The pain that ripped through him nearly made Josuke black out right there. He collapsed on his knees, gagging from pain-induced nausea as he heard the coach calling to him.

"Josuke!" Okuyasu was suddenly in front of him, hands on his shoulders, trying to duck down to look into his face. "Hey! You okay, man?"

Josuke grabbed onto his friend's arms. "Y-Yeah," he breathed. "Help me up."

Okuyasu grabbed his arms and helped Josuke to his feet, about to lead him over to the benches when another sharp pain tore through Josuke's middle, doubling him over with a cry. The only thing that kept him from falling now was Okuyasu's grip tightening around him.

"Josuke! What's going on with you?"

"I—I don't know," Josuke breathed, clutching his stomach. "It—it really hurts. I think something's…something's really wrong."

And then everything seemed to tilt and before Josuke knew it, he was collapsing, Okuyasu going down with him as the other students gasped and shrieked.

So much for not causing a spectacle, Josuke thought wryly as he passed out.

~~~~~~~

The faint sound of steady beeping was the first thing that Josuke was aware of when he woke up. It was way too familiar and he scrunched up his nose, dreading opening his eyes, hoping all of this was just a nightmare he would wake up from.

But it wasn't. Josuke's blurry vision opened to a sterile room, machines with multiple blinking lights off to one side.

Josuke laid his head back wearily, sighing. "Dammit," he murmured.

"Josuke?"

He craned his head over to see his mom sitting on the other side of the bed, face pale and strained, dark circles under her eyes.

"Mom," he croaked. "Wh' 'appened?"

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "The doctors said there was some scar tissue left from your injury that was causing complications. After you collapsed at school, they sent you here for emergency surgery since you were bleeding internally."

Her face was pained and that made Josuke feel worse than he already did. He hated seeing his mom like this. He'd seen way too much of that expression when he'd been in the hospital after the fight with Kira, in really bad shape.

"M'sorry," he said before he could help himself, trying to squeeze her hand back, even though he didn't have much strength at all.

His mom's eyes widened and she took his hand in both of hers. "No, Josuke, don't be sorry. None of this was your fault."

"Worried you," he said sheepishly.

Tomoko's eyes softened and she reached out, brushing his un-done hair out of his eyes. "Sweetie, I'm always going to worry about you, even if you just have a cold. You're just gonna have to get used to it."

He rolled his eyes slightly but his mouth pulled up with a small smile.

She patted his hand. "Now, Okuyasu and Koichi have been sitting out in the waiting room all afternoon. I'll go make sure the doctors allow them to come in now that you're awake."

Josuke relaxed, feeling oddly warm knowing his friends had stayed this whole time.

His mom returned in only a few minutes with the two other teenagers in tow. Josuke managed a smile as they hurried over to the bed, the worry and relief obvious in their faces.

"Josuke!" Okuyasu cried, plopping down on the side of the bed. "I was so worried, man! You should have told us you were feeling bad before you went and collapsed like that!"

"Yeah, it could have been a lot worse!" Koichi added.

Tomoko stood off to the side with her arms folded. "They have a point," she said with a small smile.

Josuke rolled his eyes, but couldn't feel too annoyed. Mostly because he was tried, but also because he was genuinely grateful to have friends like these.

"Hey, are you thirsty?" Okuyasu asked.

Josuke nodded, throat almost painfully dry, and Okuyasu spent the next few minutes carefully feeding him ice chips while Josuke soaked up the care everyone was providing him. His mom found an extra blanket and pulled it over him as he started to fall asleep to Okuyasu and Koichi's casual rambling. Maybe he didn't mind being trapped in the hospital again so much if he had the people he cared about most there with him.

Josuke went to sleep with that thought.

 

Chapter 9: It'll Be Fun, They Said: Abbacchio & Narancia

Summary:

Abbacchio had told Narancia to run. Unfortunately he didn't take that advice. Now they're both caught by a sadistic captor waiting for the rest of their team to arrive.

Notes:

Abbacchio and Narancia end up in a really bad situation today...

Prompts Used: torture | made to watch | begging

Abbacchio struggled weakly as they dragged him from the dark room they had been keeping him in. At this point he didn't know how long he'd been in there, but it had been long enough for the injuries he'd sustained from the initial beating to stiffen up—of course lying on a hard floor hadn't helped that—and for him to be blinded by even the lowest amount of light. His hands were cuffed behind his back, leaving him with little mobility.

Another door was opened and he was thrown to the floor again where he curled up instinctively. He had no idea what was coming now, some kind of interrogation, maybe death.

The light in the room was too bright for his eyes, so he didn't see who else was in there before he heard the wavering voice.

"Abba?"

Abbacchio jerked his head up, eyes screaming from the industrial lighting and his heart sank as he saw Narancia sitting tied up in a chair a few feet away.

The kid looked rough, face bruised, lip bleeding, but still better than Abbacchio felt. But still, Abbacchio had been sure the kid had gotten away. He'd told him to run.

Their captor kicked Abbacchio in the side before he went around behind Narancia's chair and grabbed a fistful of his messy hair, wrenching his head back. "Would you believe this little rat came back to find you? I don't know why anyone would care about what happens to ex-cop scum like you, but the kid does seem to have a few screws loose."

"You shut your damn mouth! Don't talk about Abbacchio like that!" Narancia snapped, jerking against his ropes.

"Got a mouth on him too," their captor grunted, yanking Narancia's headband off and forcing it between his teeth. Narancia managed to bite him in the process, causing the man to slap him hard, tying the cloth with a rough yank behind his head.

"Feral little brat," he snarled.

Narancia hissed at him, straining at his ropes again.

"Long story short, the kid refused to talk until we showed him you were alive," the man said, going back over to Stand in front of Abbacchio, reaching down to haul him into a sitting position propped against the wall. "Little brat is harder to crack than I thought." He turned to glower at Narancia who was mumbling something probably vulgar behind his gag. "But I thought a dirty cop like you might be more inclined to snitch. So, let me make it clear." He leaned over, grabbing a hank of Abbacchio's hair to wrench his face up, making him wince from his already abused skull. "You tell me what I want to know, and I'll let the kid go. If you don't…"

He nodded to the thug who had been standing in the dark corner of the room and he strode over, letting a worn leather bag fall to the ground as he stood beside Narancia.

"My friend here has a bag of tricks he's been waiting to try out. So, be a good little snitch and sing to me, or your boy here gets to see what's in the bag."

Abbacchio glowered at the man, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. Why the hell couldn't they have decided to torture him? Why couldn't Narancia ever follow orders? He didn't even know how long they had been gone. Were the others even looking for them by now?

"I figured you would be stubborn," their captor said. "How about a little preview to let you know I'm serious?"

He nodded to the thug who reached down and pulled a curved blade out of the bag, tracing it up Narancia's arm before starting the cut at his elbow, sliding up all the way to his shoulder. Narancia shuddered and gave a cut-off cry past his gag. The man shifted the blade to the boy's face, pressing it into the corner of his eye. Narancia squeezed his eyes shut. He let out a small cry when the blade was slashed down the side of his face, blood dripping down his neck.

Abbacchio was furious, but he also knew that he was dealing with pure sadists here. And the more he protested, the worse it would be for Narancia. He couldn't fight, and the only way to get out of this was to not provoke them. To hopefully let them lose interest, maybe leave Abbacchio and Narancia in the same room so they could come up with a plan. Or give the others enough time to figure out where they were.

"Well, Abbacchio?" their captor asked. "It's only going to get worse from here. Have anything you want to tell me?"

Abbacchio met Narancia's eyes briefly, begging him to hold on for a few minutes. He stayed silent and their captor snorted.

"I'll tell my man to have fun then. Feel free to speak up any time."

Abbacchio had never felt so helpless. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand watching Narancia try to put on a brave face as various torments were applied to him, his muffled cries and welling eyes making Abbacchio furious.

When the man pulled out a pair of pliers and grabbed the boy's jaw roughly, Abbacchio had had enough.

"Stop it!" he finally demanded. "Torture me, you bastard, leave the kid alone!"

Their captor returned to Abbacchio's side, giving him a contemplative look. "Are you trying to bargain with me, Abbacchio? That's not a good look, especially since I still haven't heard one peep out of you about what I want to know."

"He's just a kid," Abbacchio snarled.

"He's just a casualty," the man retorted. "Another one for you to add to your list of sins, if what I heard about you is true."

Abbacchio froze, heart in his throat, feeling like he could throw up.

Narancia growled as the thug pried his mouth open, nearly gagging him by shoving his thumb behind Narancia's teeth so he could get the pliers in and grab a tooth.

Abbacchio surged forward but their captor slammed him back against the wall with a boot to his chest before he bent down, grabbing Abbacchio by the hair to force him to watch.

"Stop it!" he snapped. Narancia screamed, fighting against his restraints. His screams got even louder as the man yanked the tooth out, leaving the boy to slump in the chair, bloody spit trailing from between his lips.

Their captor only smiled and Abbacchio watched in horror as the torturer next pulled a large box out of the bag along with some cords. It took Abbacchio a second to realize it was a car battery.

"No," he snarled. "Don't!"

"What's tha'?" Narancia slurred spitting a gob of blood out before his eyes widened when the man attached the cords to the battery and brushed the ends together, showing off sparks.

"H-Hey…" Narancia wavered.

The torturer smirked and pushed the cords against Narancia's side.

He screamed and shuddered horribly from the electric current. Abbacchio was already pushing up to his knees, but their captor grabbed him, getting him into a headlock so he couldn't move.

"You chose this," he said with a dark glee.

"Stop! Fuck…Please!" Abbacchio shouted, unable to watch this another second as the torturer gave Narancia a second's break, his body slumping in relief before he began shocking him again and Narancia arched against his restraints.

"Oh, you want to say please?" their captor asked mockingly. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that."

The torturer stopped for the moment, allowing Narancia to slump, whimpering in the chair.

"I'll offer you a deal, Abbacchio," the man said. "If you can beg me nice and pretty not to hurt your boy, then I might consider giving you another chance to give me all the information I want to know, and he doesn't have the suffer anymore."

Abbacchio breathed heavily, cringing to himself. But if it could buy them more time…

"Please, I beg you," he said, trying to soften his voice, lowering his head.

Narancia screamed sharply again as he was electrocuted briefly.

"That's terrible," their captor grunted, releasing Abbacchio and standing in front of him. "Show me you really mean it. What does his life mean to you, Abbacchio? How much of your dignity and pride are you willing to give up to save him?"

"A-Abba," Narancia croaked, and that did it for Abbacchio.

He shifted awkwardly with his hands behind his back until he was bowed over. "Please…I beg you to stop hurting him," he pleaded, not having to try too hard to be sincere.

"Better…but not quite good enough…"

"Don't!" Abbacchio cried as the torturer started to reach for Narancia again. "Please! I'll do whatever you want, just stop fucking hurting him!"

"Will you kiss my feet?" their captor asked with a sadistic smirk, enjoying this way too much.

Abbacchio fumed, but one glance at the evil look on the torturer's face and he bent and pressed his lips briefly to one leather shoe.

The man clicked his tongue. "You just smeared blood and lipstick all over it. Lick it off."

"Abba," Narancia whimpered, choking back sobs now as he watched the disgusting display.

Abbacchio ignored him, and did as he was told, cringing as he licked across the leather.

Their captor chuckled gleefully and kicked him in the face before slamming Abbacchio's cheek to the floor, pressing him down with his heel grinding against the other side of his face.

"You really are pathetic, aren't you? Is this how you got Bucciarati to take you in? What a worthless piece of shit."

"I really don't take kindly to people insulting my men."

Abbacchio felt relief surge through him at the sound of the familiar voice that came before all hell broke loose.

Bucciarati and the others made short work of the two men and it was only a few seconds before Mista was bending over Abbacchio to free him from the cuffs.

Abbacchio pushed himself upright with the gunman's help, seeing Fugo and Giorno untying Narancia.

"Took your damn time," Abbacchio breathed.

"I'm sorry it took us so long, we weren't sure where you were at first," Bucciarati said, bending over to give Abbacchio a once over.

"No, take me to Abba," Narancia was saying and all of a sudden he staggered over, collapsing against Abbacchio's chest with a sigh of relief.

Abbacchio could only hold him in return, forcing one of his numb hands through Narancia's blood-matted hair. "God, kid, I'm so sorry."

"It's good, we distracted them long enough. I'm not mad at you, I promise. That tooth had a cavity in it anyway."

Abbacchio huffed a helpless laugh and held the kid tighter, both of them shaking. He never, ever wanted to have to go through a situation like that again.

"Come on, let's get you both back home and tended to," Bucciarati said softly, carefully helping Abbacchio to his feet and giving him a shoulder to lean on.

Mista picked up Narancia, who's legs seemed to be shaking too much to walk, and they made their way out to the waiting vehicles.

Abbacchio slumped in the back of the van, closing his eyes, grunting as Giorno began to ask him about his injuries.

He cracked his eyes open as Narancia settled against his side, looking exhausted and way worse in the full sunlight.

"Next time, when I tell you to run, you run. Got it?" he grunted.

Narancia looked up at him with sober eyes. "I don't leave friends, Abbacchio. Maybe you just need to get used to that."

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow, but felt warmth form in his chest all the same. He snorted and pulled the kid closer to him, simply relieved that they had both gotten out of there more or less in one piece.

Narancia might be reckless, but the same could be said for all of them. What mattered now was that they were both okay.

Chapter 10: That's Gonna Leave a Mark: Mista

Summary:

Giorno and Mista escape from an enemy but with their Stands suppressed, there's only one thing to do when Mista is injured and it's not going to be pretty.

Notes:

Today we have Mista whump and shockingly it's not him getting shot this time.

Prompts used: "this is gonna suck" | cauterization

The escape went better than Mista thought it would. Giorno might have some insane plans, but they usually worked out in the end.

That didn't stop Mista from getting a knife in the leg as they were sprinting out of the place.

It slammed into the meat of his thigh and he dropped with a shout. Giorno ran a few more paces with his momentum but instantly skidded to a stop and spun around.

"Mista!" he cried, rushing back to haul him to his feet.

"Go," Mista gritted out, staggering up. "I'll catch up, promise…"

"No way," Giorno replied firmly and urged them both forward again. "Just hop as quickly as possible. We're almost to a place we can hide."

Mista gritted his teeth, but trusted Giorno to have a plan, so he hopped along on his good leg and let Giorno guide them through the dense forest.

Their pursuers didn't reappear to which Mista was glad as he hadn't been able to retrieve his gun on the way out and on top of that—the real problem—was that they didn't currently have use of their Stands thanks to a suppressing gas that their previous captor had pumped into their cell.

He was glad when Giorno directed them toward a rocky area that would hopefully offer enough shelter so that they wouldn't be spotted.

"Easy," Giorno murmured as he lowered Mista down against a large rock, and instantly knelt to check on his injury, the knife still sticking from him.

"It's gotta come out," Mista grunted as he straightened his leg out slowly. "Or can you use it like the bullets to heal me?"

Giorno shook his head. "I still can't access Gold. And I don't know how long that will be the case. Or how long the others will take to get to our location."

Mista sighed, leaning his head back and glancing down to see the blood trickling from his leg past the knife. "What do you want to do then? If we pull it out, I can bind it up and maybe make it down to the bottom of the mountain."

Giorno bit his lip, contemplating. "All right. You realize though that I'm not the one with knowledge about human anatomy, that's Fugo. Gold just makes whatever I want him to."

"I'm pretty sure this is just in the muscle," Mista told him. "Had a bullet a few centimeters lower than it once and didn't die."

Giorno sighed. "That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, but I don't think we really have another option at this point. Give me a second." He opened his coat and ripped out the silk lining, tearing it into strips. "This will have to do for now. Silk is strong and should hold pretty well."

Mista nodded, and watched Giorno work until he held a length of silk. "All right, do you want me to do it?"

"No, I got it," Mista said, already sweating as he reached for the hilt of the knife while Giorno readied the length of silk. He glanced up to meet Giorno's eyes and gave him a nod. "This is gonna suck."

Mista grabbed the knife and gritted his teeth before pulling it out. He yelled, throwing his head back as Giorno moved in and swiftly wrapped the silk around Mista's leg, tying it tightly. Mista cried out again as Giorno yanked the cloth tight, pressing the knot right above the wound.

"There, that should hold," he said, sounding slightly breathless himself. "And the good thing is that there was no arterial spray so you should be fine."

Mista huffed out a half laugh. "You know, your bedside manner really isn't any better than Fugo's." He grabbed the knife and cleaned it in the ground with a wince before slipping it into his boot just in case they would need it later. "Come on, this is as good as it's going to get. We need to get someplace where it will be easier for the others to find us."

Giorno nodded reluctantly and stood, helping Mista to his feet.

Mista groaned once he put even the smallest amount of pressure on his leg and leaned heavily against Giorno.

"Are you good?" the younger teen asked.

Mista huffed. "No, but let's go."

They staggered off through the woods, and Mista could already feel the blood seeping down into his boot, pooling sickeningly under his foot. He swallowed hard, beginning to feel light-headed. He didn't know if that was because of the thought of all the blood he was losing or the blood loss itself.

When he started to list without realizing it, Giorno yanked him back upright, shaking him slightly. "Mista!"

"'M good," Mista replied through clenched teeth.

Giorno glanced down quickly, eyes widening. "You're not! Your leg is soaked in blood! Let me readjust the bandage."

He sat Mista down again and by now the gunman saw that Giorno was right, he was really bleeding pretty badly. Giorno tried to re-tighten the bandage, but more blood bubbled out, dripping down onto the ground.

'This isn't going to work, you're bleeding too heavily," Giorno said grimly. "I still can't manifest Gold Experience, so we're going to have to think of something else." He glanced around briefly before he turned back to Mista. "Do you have a lighter?"

"Somewhere, yeah," Mista said before what Giorno had asked hit him. "Wait…you're not gonna…"

Giorno pressed his lips into a thin line. "Cauterizing the injury is the only thing we can do right now. I'll need that knife you took out of your leg too."

Mista swore under his breath and dug the things out of his boot, handing them to Giorno.

The blond spent no time at all flicking the lighter and running the knife through it. He set the now glowing knife on a rock and turned back to Mista to yank the rest of the makeshift bandage off and rip the hole in Mista's pants further so he could have room to work.

"I need you to hold this open," he said.

Mista nodded and took the fabric in slightly shaking hands, holding it away from his wound. Giorno ran the knife through the flame again for a few more seconds and then turned to him, taking a deep breath.

"Okay, I'm sure this isn't going to be pleasant."

"Yeah, no sh—AHHGH!"

To Giorno's credit, he didn't hesitate which was probably better in the long run, but that didn't make it hurt any less. It took everything Mista had to stay still and not pass out. The smell of burning flesh—his own, no less—made him want to throw up.

Giorno pulled the knife away and stuck it in the ground, leaving a shiny red mark where the wound had been.

"Looks like it worked," Giorno said. "The bleeding's stopped."

"Well…that's something…" Mista panted, leaning back to support himself on the tree he had been sitting against. "Giorno, whatever I've said about your healing being painful in the past…this is way worse!"

Giorno gave him a sympathetic smile and tore more of his coat lining up to make a fresh bandage. Mista hissed as he tied it around the tender spot.

"Are you good to go?" Giorno asked him.

Mista let out a huff of laughter. "You really are a slave driver, boss," he said cheekily.

Giorno glanced over his shoulder. "I was just thinking that we still likely have pursuers and no weapons aside from a very small knife."

"Yeah, that's a fair point," Mista agreed and reached out so Giorno could help him to his feet. His leg still hurt, but it wasn't quite as bad as before and he wasn't bleeding everywhere so that was a plus.

Not much further along, Mista caught sight of something above them and when he glanced up, he saw Aerosmith flying overhead.

"Hey! Narancia!" he cried, catching Giorno's attention. They both waved to the plane and it disappeared soon after.

In another ten minutes the rest of the team found them and led them back down to the base of the mountain where they had a car waiting. Mista allowed the others to fuss over him, but was mostly just glad to be back. He felt forever grateful to have such a resourceful friend like Giorno.

Even if he had a terrible bedside manner.

 

Chapter 11: Under Pressure: Risotto

Summary:

Risotto is injured on a mission, but luckily his team is there and knows exactly what to do. It wasn't all bad, after all, what better excuse than a broken leg to take a day off?

Notes:

Changing it up and doing a La Squadra centric fic today! I actually had a ton of fun writing this and look forward to writing these guys more in the future, so if anyone would like to throw me some La Squadra fic ideas, feel free!

Prompts used: crush injuries

Risotto blinked his eyes open slowly. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, hyperaware of it due to Metallica's ability. Speaking of, he could feel his Stand congregating to certain areas of his body, indicating that he had been injured. He just couldn't really tell where or how bad.

"Boss!"

The cries finally filtered in and someone's hands cupped his face. Risotto blinked upward, clearing his vision to see Formaggio, looking distraught, bleeding down one side of his face as he leaned over him. "Boss, hey, hold on, we're gonna get you out of here."

"Man in the Mirror isn't strong enough to move this!" Risotto could hear Illuso's voice filter in, also sounding panicked.

"You don't need to move it, we just need to get it raised slightly so it doesn't crush him completely," Fomaggio instructed.

"What…happened?" Risotto forced out, eyes scanning the area until he saw mostly just wreckage, Illuso and his Stand trying to lift it.

Trying to lift it off of Risotto.

That was when he realized he was lying on the concrete floor, and the wreckage was piled on top of his legs.

"That bastard we took out tried to take you with him," Formaggio said with a snarl. "Don't worry though, he got crushed under the worst of it."

Risotto nodded, trying to shift, but agony flared through his body, centering mostly on his leg. He let out a sharp grunt and Formaggio pressed a hand to his shoulder.

"Don't try to move yet. I'm gonna shrink you to get you out, okay? I'm just gonna go help Illuso lift this first and Little Feet is gonna pull you out.

Risotto didn't think they would be able to lift this even together, but he was still trying to figure out what was going on himself. The last thing he'd remembered was chasing his mortally wounded target into the old warehouse which, apparently, had been a bad idea.

Formaggio's Stand appeared and crouched by Risotto's head, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, on three," Formaggio said. "One—two—three—aaagh!"

Risotto felt the weight smashing his leg shift ever so slightly as everything started to look bigger. Little Feet swiftly hauled him backwards and as soon as he was clear, Illuso and Formaggio let the debris fall, breathing heavily.

"Boss!" Illuso gasped out, staggering over to him as Risotto returned to proper size, trying to shift up onto his elbows.

"Ghiaccio is bringing the car," Formaggio said as the two crouched beside him.

Risotto finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows, gritting his teeth. "Good. Help me up."

Illuso's eyes shot open. "No way, Riz! I'm pretty sure your leg is broken. I'm not letting you try to walk on this until we figure out how bad."

Risotto would have loved to argue, but he was pretty sure that Illuso was right. In fact, his leg hurt so much that even when he made the slightest move he felt nauseous and light-headed. He was pretty good at dealing with pain, but this was an extreme he had never experienced.

A van screeched to a stop beside them then. "Get him inside!" Ghiaccio shouted through the window.

As carefully as possible Risotto was bundled into the back of the van, Illuso attempting to keep his leg straight the whole time, though his foot scraped across the threshold and forced Risotto to bite back a grunt.

They tried to make him comfortable, but nothing could help Ghiaccio's driving.

A sharp corner taken too quickly had Risotto smashed against the back of the seats, letting out a string of curses.

"Hey, shithead, it's a good thing you're not an ambulance driver!" Formaggio yelled up front.

"You said you wanted fast," Ghiaccio snapped back, not even paying attention to the road.

"It's fine," Risotto grunted as he heard car horns blaring. "Better to get it over with quicker."

Illuso looked over at him, barely veiled worry on his face. "How bad is it really, boss?"

"I'll live," Risotto said tiredly. And he would; he'd had worse.

That answer didn't seem to satisfy anyone else though, but they were back at the apartment soon enough thanks to Ghiaccio's driving, where the rest of the team met them.

"What the hell happened?" was the first thing Prosciutto demanded as the back of the van was opened to reveal Risotto and his injury.

"Just a mishap and an overachieving target," Risotto grunted.

Prosciutto's lip curled but he nodded to the others. "Let's get him inside, we set first aid stuff out by the couch."

They helped him sit up and scooted him out of the back of the van slowly, but by the time Risotto was mostly upright the pain was making him both nauseous and dizzy. He breathed through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to move his leg.

"Risotto?" Prosciutto asked sharply, ducking in to help steady him.

Risotto exhaled slowly. "It's fine. Let's go."

Prosciutto's lips pressed into a firm line, obviously not believing him, but there was nothing to do except go forward, which they did until they finally got Risotto onto the couch, lowering him down with even more pain ripping through his body.

Melone and Pesci were waiting for them inside. Melone poking through the first aid supplies with interest as Pesci stood off to one side, wringing his hands.

"Boss! Are you okay?" the youngest team member asked.

"Of course he's not okay, Pesci, don't be an idiot," snapped Prosciutto. "Make yourself useful and get some towels and a bowl of water."

Pesci nodded and hurried off as Melone leaned over Risotto, cocking his head.

"You're not dying, are you, boss?" he asked, blinking.

"No, I don't think I'm dying," Risotto replied, but without nearly as much conviction as he wanted, especially when he felt Prosciutto start to prod at his leg. His breath caught in his throat and he tensed.

"Is it broken?" Formaggio asked.

Prosciutto's brow pinched. "I would assume it is, but I actually can't tell. It's incredibly swollen."

"Lot of blood down there," Risotto panted. "Tried to ease the swelling with Metallica, but it doesn't seem to be working."

"Hmm," Melone said, picking up a pair of scissors, studying them before Prosciutto snatched them from his hand and started to cut the leg of Risotto's pants from around the injury. "Sounds like it might be compartment syndrome."

"What the hell is that?" Formaggio asked.

"It's when blood gets trapped between the muscles, due to internal bleeding," Prosciutto said, snipping Risotto's pants open to above the knee, revealing the grotesquely mottled leg below.

Risotto gritted his teeth as Prosciutto prodded it slightly.

"What does it feel like?" the blonde asked.

"It hurts," Risotto grunted. "A lot. Kind of burning too."

Prosciutto's jaw tightened. "All right, that is what it sounds like. In which case we need to drain the blood now before the damage is irreparable. Pesci!"

The younger man hurried back into the room. "I got the towels and stuff, big bro."

"Good," Prosciutto said. "Melone, is there a scalpel in there?"

"Already found one!" the purple-haired man said, triumphantly holding up a scalpel he'd seemed to have pulled out of nowhere.

"Please sanitize it."

They got towels under Risotto's leg with some painful readjustments and when they were done, Prosciutto glanced down at Risotto. "Can you use Metallica right now?"

"Yes," Risotto breathed; as long as he didn't pass out anyway. Metallica could work on their own, but he would have to set them into motion first and he wasn't sure how bad this was going to be.

"Okay, if you can get them to direct the blood, and sew up the cut after, this will go faster."

Risotto gritted his teeth and nodded, calling out his Stand to be on standby.

Prosciutto positioned himself to steady Risotto's leg, holding the ankle and knee. "Melone, you have the steadiest hand."

"Of course," Melone said, almost too eager to use the scalpel. "Are you ready, Risotto?"

"Yes," Risotto grunted, and then speared the younger man with a look. "And Melone…I better not see you taking any of my blood for one of your Stand's degenerate progeny."

Melone held up his hands in acquiescence. "Of course not! You know I promised not to use any of the team's blood after that last incident…"

Risotto sighed and lay back against the couch, shutting his eyes briefly. "Then get on with it."

The others gathered around, Ghiaccio grabbing a roll of bandages and offering it to Risotto. "You might want to bite this."

Risotto nodded after a second's hesitation and let the man shove it between his teeth.

Even with everyone holding him down, as soon as Melone made the cut in his tender, swollen leg, Risotto tensed, eyes fluttering upward and fists clenching, not having expected the pure agony of just how bad this was going to be.

His back arched off the couch, and everyone had to fight to push him back down.

"Easy," Prosciutto told him firmly. "Almost done."

Risotto took a shuddering breath and glanced down as Melone finished with the long cut down his leg. Blood was already pouring from it, guided with the help of Metallica. Risotto allowed his head to fall back on the couch, the relief of pressure already feeling better.

"It's looking good," Melone said. "The swelling is already going down."

Formaggio patted Risotto's shoulder as he spat the roll of bandages out. "Feeling any better, Riz?"

"A bit," Risotto replied tiredly, the loss of blood was making him woozy but he knew it was for the greater good in this case.

"Get me another towel," Prosciutto said and Pesci hurried over to help swap the towels, the previous one soaked with blood.

"Swelling has gone down significantly, I think we should get the leg on ice and then try to set it," Melone said, prodding Risotto's tender flesh.

"Should I close it?" Risotto asked, voice slurring slightly.

"No, I need to clean this out before you do that," Prosciutto said. "We'll handle it."

"Here's ice!" Ghiaccio announced, dumping a frozen towel on Prosciutto who wrapped it around Risotto's leg.

The ice ached, making him gasp, but after a while, the numbing effect was pleasant.

Once the swelling had gone down significantly, and Melone had plied Risotto with a dose of morphine he hadn't asked the origins of, he was feeling pretty out of it.

Which was good because by the time they got around to setting his broken leg, he just allowed himself to slip off entirely.

XXX

Risotto woke later in his own bed, injured leg in a cast, propped up on pillows. Formaggio was sleeping in a chair in the corner, a book forgotten in his lap. There was water and pills on the side table with clear instructions about what hour to take them after. Risotto wasn't really in pain at the moment, though. He was mostly just tired, so he closed his eyes and decided to enjoy something he hardly ever had the chance to.

Take a day off.

 

Chapter 12: On a Need to Know Basis: Kakyoin

Summary:

Kakyoin survived the battle against Dio, but when does the battle really end?

Notes:

Another everyone lives alternate ending, this time for Part 3. Kakyoin deals with recovery.

Prompts Used: recovery | scars | aftermath

Kakyoin stared at himself in the small mirror above the sink in the hotel room.

He looked horrific.

It was a miracle he was even standing, he knew that, and the Speedwagon doctors had somehow managed to put his body back together. He was grateful to be alive, yes, and on top of that, more or less functioning. He should be grateful that he was finally discharged from the hospital and on his way home tomorrow, but he just couldn't seem to shake off everything.

He leaned forward in the mirror, a finger coming up to trace the twin scars across his eyes. When he'd originally gotten them, he hadn't even thought about the scars. He'd just been anxious to recover enough to rejoin his friends in their fight against Dio. Now…going back to his old life, these had no place. They would make him stand out and he couldn't even hide them.

The other scar though…that one was worse.

This was the one that had taken him out of the fight entirely, that had kept him from being with the others at the end. He shuddered as he slipped his hand down to his stomach, tracing the awful puckered skin, still pink and tender, knowing there was a spot just like it on his back, just barely to the right of his spine—the only thing that had kept him from being paralyzed. Even then, the doctors had warned him that he might never fully regain his muscle mass because of the damage and he probably wouldn't be able to do anything strenuous for years if not the rest of his life for fear it would be too much stress on his ruined body.

On top of that, he hadn't been able to manifest Hierophant since then either. He could still feel his Stand attached to him, but Hierophant had taken grievous injuries too and Kakyoin was sure he would need his own recovery time. Still, it just felt like one more blow. Taking away the only thing that had ever brought him comfort.

Kakyoin turned away from the mirror in disgust and quickly finished toweling his hair dry and dressing, even that taking way too much energy, leaving him slightly breathless. Tears of frustration pricked at his eyes, but he angrily blinked them away as he tugged his shirt down over the ugly scars and finally stepped out of the bathroom.

Jotaro was watching tv on the small set in the room, flipping idly through channels. He glanced up briefly at Kakyoin as he slunk past to his own bed.

He laid down, curling up and pressing a pillow to his chest, idly watching the television without really registering it, trying to find a comfortable position. He'd been slowly getting off the heavy pain reducers since leaving the hospital, but his body was in constant protest, aching and exhausted no matter what he did or didn't do.

His fists clenched in the pillow, anger building inside of him. Anger he probably didn't have the energy for, but he didn't care at this point.

"Hey, are you good?"

Kakyoin looked over to see Jotaro watching him. His face looked blank, but Kakyoin knew him well enough by now to read concern there.

"Fine," Kakyoin replied automatically.

Jotaro didn't believe him obviously especially since Kakyoin shifted again and was unable to stop the look of pain that crossed his face as something inside him pulled, causing agony to shoot through him.

Jotaro sat up straighter. "Do you need more pills?"

Kakyoin shook his head. "Already took one today."

"Well, how about an aspirin?" Jotaro asked as he stood and went over to the small kitchenette in the room, grabbing a glass of water and a bottle of pills.

Kakyoin sighed and sat up stiffly, accepting the water and swallowing the aspirin. Maybe it would do something for him, but he doubted it.

"How bad is it?" Jotaro finally asked.

Kakyoin sighed and slumped back against the head of the bed, still clutching his pillow against his chest. "Everything hurts," he admitted.

Jotaro sat down on the end of the bed, arms folded in his lap. Kakyoin could see his own scars, lighter pock-marks all over his arms and others too close to his neck. He'd said they were from knives Dio threw at him. Those had been bad enough but Kakyoin knew Jotaro was still favoring his broken ribs and shoulder. He'd only just gotten his arm out of a sling.

And yes, Kakyoin knew he wasn't the only one who had been injured, but Jotaro had defeated Dio on his own. No one else had been around to help him and it was a miracle he had figured out how to stop time with Star Platinum to survive and win the fight. If he hadn't…all of them would be dead right now, and Dio would be free to hurt only more people.

"Did the shower not help?" Jotaro asked. "I know sometimes the heat at least relaxes my muscles which takes some of the pain away."

Kakyoin shrugged. "A little. It's just hard to stand for too long right now. I have no muscle mass in my core anymore so it takes a lot of effort." He bit his lip.

"You should wear the brace the doctors gave you."

"If I do, I'll rely too much on it. I'll never regain my strength."

Jotaro sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, in the rare condition of not being covered by his hat. "Kakyoin, you have to let yourself heal first. You can't just expect everything to magically go back to normal—"

"I know that!" Kakyoin snapped. "What the hell do you think I'm trying to do?"

Jotaro narrowed his eyes. "I think you're trying to pretend you're okay when that obviously isn't the truth and it's not doing you any favors."

Kakyoin turned away, jaw tight, fingers clenching hard into the pillow he held.

"Look," Jotaro continued. "I get it. I'm not good with this either, but…we're alive. I'm grateful you survived."

"I wasn't there, though, I couldn't help you," Kakyoin said.

"You did though," Jotaro insisted. "You were the one who cracked Dio's Stand ability. Without you, we all would have died."

Kakyoin was silent again for a long time before he took a breath and said, "Are you ever…scared…to go back?"

"What do you mean?"

Kakyoin sighed, looking down at the bedcover. "I mean, how do you just go back to living normally after all this? What are we going to do, Jotaro? Sit in a classroom all day, pretend to be normal until we graduate and have to figure out what to do with our lives after that? When we've done these impossible things, nearly died multiple times, how do you go back too that? And my parents…they don't know about Stands, they still think I just ran away or something. And I'm going to come back like…like this with no explanation they can understand as to what happened. I'll have these scars for the rest of my life!"

Jotaro nodded slowly then shrugged. "I guess, maybe part of me is looking forward to some normal," he said slowly as if just realizing it himself. "And I get to see my mom again." He glanced over to Kakyoin. "I'm sure your parents are going to be glad to see you too."

Kakyoin curled up more. But Jotaro was right. And he really did want to see his family again. He had missed them horribly.

"I know," he finally admitted. "I just… it's going to be hard. What will they think when they see these scars? I don't want them to feel guilty. I just don't know if I can go back to my old life, you know? It was so…lonely."

"Kakyoin," Jotaro told him firmly. "You're not alone now. You have us. So…remember that."

Kakyoin felt something well in his throat and he swallowed hard. Jotaro was right. Despite everything, he did have friends now. Friends he could actually rely on, who understood what he had been through. There was something cathartic about that.

Jotaro stood up. "Here, let me help you get more comfortable."

He grabbed an extra pillow from his own bed and helped prop Kakyoin up with them until there was no strain put on his middle, leaving him pain free for the most part.

As Jotaro went back to crash on his own bed, Kakyoin looked over.

"Jotaro, thank you," he said sincerely.

Jotaro ducked his head, but he didn't have a hat brim to hide under this time. "Sure," he replied.

Kakyoin turned back to the tv and took a deep breath. Tomorrow they would go home. He decided he needed to make the most of it.

 

Chapter 13: Field Care 101: Gyro

Summary:

Gyro should never have thrown his lot in with Johnny.

Notes:

Warning Steel Ball Run Spoilers!

Basically I speedrun an AU ending for SBR while probably misusing Tusk's powers, but hope you enjoy it anyway.

Prompts Used: 'please don't move' | hemorrhage | dread

Johnny took a moment to breathe. This fight had taken more out of him than anything else had through the course of this whole race.

Tusk still hovered there over him, looming, and Johnny finally dragged his head up, looking around frantically.

Lucy was lying on the beach, unconscious, but Valkyrie was still standing in the shallows.

Johnny pushed himself over to the horse, hoping that he could at least find Gyro's body. Please, please, let it be there…

A hand floated above the water, and Johnny grabbed it, hauling until Gyro's body emerged from the water. Johnny choked back a sob as he dragged him to shore, leaving a trail of blood in the water behind them. When they finally got up onto the beach Johnny nearly collapsed on top of Gyro, clutching his coat in his hands.

"Gyro," he croaked, bowing his head until his forehead rested in the crook of the man's neck. It had all happened too quickly. Valentine had shot him right out of the saddle. After everything, for him to go out like that…

Tears slid down Johnny's cheeks, still remembering Valentine's proposition. It made him sick how close he had been to almost taking it. But it wouldn't have been the same. It wouldn't really have been Gyro. He knew that, and that was why, in the end, he'd managed to say no. Though it had been a close thing. It really had. He'd felt so alone since his brother died, even more after he'd lost the use of his legs. Gyro had been the first friend he'd had in years.

And for it to lead to this.

A scream of rage and pain tore from Johnny's throat, one fist clutched in Gyro's coat, the other slamming down against his chest, useless anger directed at the only person stupid enough to stick around him, even now.

His fist slipped in wet, hot blood that was still pouring from Gyro's chest, mixing with the water.

Which was…odd.

Even through his grief, Johnny raised his head and glanced down at the hole in Gyro's coat, seeing blood still pouring from the wound.

You didn't bleed when you were dead.

Holding his breath, Johnny pushed himself upright and tore open Gyro's coat and shirt, seeing the bullet wound and the blood bubbling up inside of it.

Johnny pressed shaking fingers to Gyro's throat. This had to be a fluke. Surely, he couldn't actually be alive. He couldn't….

An extremely faint and stuttering pulse fluttering under Johnny's fingers and he gasped in wonder.

"Holy shit," he breathed shakily. "Holy shit, Gyro, Gyro!"

He shook the man, but Gyro didn't stir. He must be hurt badly, Johnny reminded himself. He stopped and turned back to the wound, trying to see what had happened, pressing around the bullet hole in the center of Gyro's chest.

More blood bubbled out, but he also noticed that Gyro's chest and stomach felt hard, slightly swollen. Johnny rummaged through the little he knew about medical things and came up with internal bleeding. The bullet must have hit an artery inside, leaving Gyro mostly to bleed internally.

Now Johnny felt even more frantic. He knew his friend was alive, but he had no idea what to do. He didn't even have Gyro's medical knowledge. He just barely knew what was going on.

He was startled when Tusk moved closer to him. He'd almost forgotten about his Stand now that the fight was over, but for some reason, Tusk was still there, hovering at his side. Johnny looked up as Tusk reached out, handing him something.

Johnny's eyes opened wide as his Stand handed him one of Gyro's steel balls. As he watched, it started to rotate slightly in Tusk's palm. The Stand looked over to Gyro and back toward Johnny.

Johnny swallowed hard. "I can't, I don't know how to use it!"

Tusk pushed the ball toward him insistently and Johnny finally reached out and slowly took it up, the orb still spinning in his hand for a couple seconds before it settled, still.

"Look, I'm not trained like Gyro! I don't know what to do!" He shouted at the Stand.

Tusk simply looked at him, cocking his head and pointed at Gyro, then the ball.

More tears slid down Johnny's cheeks, feeling helpless. Despite everything he had achieved he still couldn't save his friend.

He turned back to Gyro, holding the steel ball in his hand, remembering how he had seen Gyro work it when he was healing. There had to be a way. He knew it. After what he had achieved to defeat Valentine, he should be able to do this. After all, what good was his power if he couldn't use it to save even just one life?

He wiped his face roughly, and bent over Gyro, holding the ball in his palm. "Okay." He said. "Okay, we're gonna do this, and Gyro, you're gonna live. You hear me, asshole? You're gonna live!"

He took a breath and oriented himself, picturing the Golden Ratio as he felt the ball start to rotate. There was a brief pause as he made sure it was going steady and then slowly lowered it toward Gyro. He placed it in the center of the man's chest.

Tusk leaned over, his hands meeting Johnny's at the fingertips so that they were mirroring each other. The Spin strengthened and seemed to be doing something. Gyro's body shuddered and twitched. Because of the connection with the spin, Johnny could almost feel the change in Gyro's blood pressure, blood returning where it was supposed to go. Gyro's skin turning pinker again, warming under Johnny's hands.

And then his eyes flew open and a look of panic flashed across his face as he gagged.

"Gyro!" Johnny cried, startled himself. It was only thanks to Tusk that he didn't lose his concentration.

Gyro flailed suddenly, more of a spasm and Johnny reached out and grabbed his shoulders. "Gyro! Please don't move!" he cried.

That was when Gyro started choking. Blood and water poured from his mouth and Johnny watched in horror, wondering if he had done something horribly wrong.

Then something instinctive had him struggling to turn Gyro onto his side where the man coughed up everything, but didn't choke on it this time. Cautiously, Johnny continued what he was doing with the spin until Gyro was breathing steadily, if not a little more shallow.

He settled into the sand, eyes closed, still just breathing. Johnny sat watching him, terrified that any second he might stop again. He carefully lowered his hand with the steel ball in it and had no idea what to do next.

Then Gyro stirred again, coughed weakly and his eyes opened, searching. "J-Johnny?"

Johnny let out a shuddering breath and bent, resting a hand on Gyro's shoulder. "I'm here," he said, fighting back yet more tears, though this time of relief.

"Wha' didja do?" Gyro asked.

"Honestly, I don't know. But…did it work?" Johnny asked.

Gyro huffed a laugh, wincing slightly. "Feel like I got trampled by a stampede, but…think it worked—whatever you did."

Johnny grinned with another sob and couldn't help leaning over and pulling Gyro up into his arms, trying not to squeeze him too hard but needing to feel his heart beating and the breath expanding his lungs. Something, he had been terrified for a moment that he would never feel again.

"Johnny," Gyro said softly, looping a weary arm around the younger man's shoulders. "You did good."

"I killed the bastard," Johnny growled against Gyro's shoulder. "I killed him."

"See? Guess you never needed me," Gyro told him.

"That's a damn lie," Johnny snapped, pushing away. "If it hadn't been for you, then I never would have been able to do any of this. You're the one who taught me, Gyro."

But the older man shook his head. "I would never have bothered if you hadn't had the talent. But I am a bit disappointed. Usually you're the one who falls off your horse. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

Johnny snorted and settled back on his heels, scrubbing his face. "That reminds me," he said and held out his hand. "Do you feel up to finishing this damn race?"

Gyro grinned, the light glinting off his gold teeth. "I think it would only be right that we do."

 

Chapter 14: The Doctor is In: Giorno & Mista

Summary:

Giorno and Mista don't get away from Cioccolata. Will their comrades be able to find them in time?

Notes:

This is obviously set during the Green Day arc but Cioccolata captures Giorno and Mista. So beware some unethical medical torture.

Prompts Used: 'now smile for the camera' | doctor's visit

Giorno woke slowly, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened. Something instantly felt wrong and when he finally pried his eyes open, he glanced around, finding his surroundings dark and pretty much just indistinguishable shapes.

What worried him more was the fact that he was lying manacled to a metal table, and… his clothes seemed to me missing save for a sheet partially draped over him.

Giorno's eyes blew wide upon that realization and panic set him fighting against the restraints, trying to call Gold Experience to change the manacles into vines so he could free himself.

But he couldn't feel Gold. In fact, everything felt sluggish, his movements, even his brain, as he tried to piece together how he might have gotten here. Someone must have drugged him but…

A chilling chuckle sounded from the darkness and when Giorno whipped his head in that direction he saw two dark figures, one holding something up that had a small red light. A camera?

"Yes, good," the taller figure practically crooned. "Make sure to get a good closeup on his face, Secco. I want to see all of that ripe terror."

Giorno finally remembered what had happened; their arrival in Rome, the discovery of Cioccolata and his terrifying Stand. He could vaguely remember going up into the helicopter to stop him, but after that there was nothing, except the obvious—he had been captured.

Another thought crossed his mind then though that terrified him even more. Mista and Bucciarati had been with him—where were they now? Mista had been wounded. Had they both gotten away, or…?

Cioccolata approached the table and a light was suddenly turned on overhead, blinding Giorno, forcing him to shut his eyes as the terrifying Stand user bent over him.

"You're definitely a special one," he purred. "Possessing the ability to replace organic material—that's quite the trick. With a power like that, I could reuse your body over and over and over again." He chuckled. "But for that, I would, of course, have to allow you access to your Stand, and I can't quite trust you for that. Nor do I have the time right now. Unfortunately, our playtime will ultimately be cut short as soon as you answer the question of who you're meeting in Rome."

Giorno glowered up at him, trying not to appear as vulnerable as he felt. Cioccolata locked eyes with him for a long moment before he let out a tired sigh, reaching out to tug experimentally on Giorno's hair, forcing his head back. "So bold, yet so young. You're trying to put on a brave face, but I can tell how terrified you really are. I can see it in your eyes. Maybe I'll give you a few minutes to think about it while I tend to your friend."

Giorno's ears perked in both relief and ultimate terror as Cioccolata left the light, Giorno saw him bend and begin to drag something out of the corner of the room.

Giorno watched, heart sinking, as the demented doctor heaved Mista up onto another metal table. The gunman grunted, eyes fluttering.

"Mista!" Giorno croaked.

Mista's head lolled over to look at him, eyes widening. "GioGio," he slurred.

Cioccolata chuckled gleefully at this. "So, the boy does speak. Look at this, Secco. It's rare I have more than one patient at a time, but we're going to have a lot of fun with these two."

Cioccolata pushed Mista back against the table and locked him down before he started to cut his clothes off.

Mista struggled. "Hey! At least buy me dinner first, you perverted freak!"

"Perhaps you shouldn't make it a habit of getting shot by your own bullets," Cioccolata told him, reaching toward a small rolling cart that held a plethora of medical supplies. He plucked up a pair of forceps and leaned over Mista, pushing him flat. He then instantly began digging the tool into one of the bullet wounds in Mista's side.

Mista cried out, jerking away instinctively, though he didn't have far to go with the restraints.

"Troublesome little thing, went quite deep," Cioccolata smirked as he twisted the forceps and finally yanked them out, gaining another choked cry from Mista as he presented a blood-soaked bullet. "Beautiful, isn't it? Get a close-up, Secco." He tossed the bullet aside, while his partner pushed in closer with the video camera, catching Mista's sweat-soaked face and pained cringe.

Cioccolata barely gave him any time to recover before he started digging out the next bullet.

Giorno pulled against his restraints, reaching for Gold, but ultimately without luck.

By the time Cioccolata was done with Mista the gunman was limp on the table, shuddering in a puddle of blood that was not dripping from his body. Secco pushed in for another closeup as Cioccolata wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing, glancing over at Giorno with a cruel smirk.

Giorno snarled. "He's going to bleed out, at least finish tending to his injuries!"

"He'll be fine for a little bit. I can tell you're feeling a little left out, though," Cioccolata crooned. "Have you thought about telling me anything yet?"

Giorno glowered at him, refusing to play into this psychopath's hands.

Cioccolata clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well, we'll see if we can loosen those lips of yours then."

He stepped around to Giorno's table, wheeling the cart with him, some of the tools still stained with Mista's blood.

Giorno tried to keep his brave face as the man loomed over him, eyes tracking up and down his body eagerly as if trying to figure out where to start. "You know, I think you're officially my youngest patient," he said with a disconcerting laugh, reaching out to stroke Giorno's cheek mockingly. "Such soft skin…"

"Don't!" Giorno snapped, flinching away.

"Hey, geddoff 'im!" Mista slurred, struggling weakly.

"You've had your turn," Cioccolata told the gunman, and turned back to Giorno. He folded the cloth covering Giorno down to his hips and started tracing a finger down the center of his chest before pushing in under his ribs on his right side, causing Giorno to flinch, injuries he'd already taken being aggravated.

"I think I'll start by cutting out your liver," Cioccolata said gleefully. "Come here, Secco, I want you to get every second of this."

Giorno's breath caught in his throat, trying to turn away from the invasive camera held by Cioccolata's strange partner.

"What's the matter, shy?" Cioccolata crooned, grabbing Giorno's chin and wrenching his head back around to face the tiny red light. "Smile for the camera!"

Giorno's attention was immediately caught by the sound of clinking metal as Cioccolata rummaged through the tools on his cart, picking up a scalpel that glinted in the light.

"Giorno!" Mista croaked, trying to struggle free again. "Get away from him, you freak!"

Giorno's eyes were fixed on the blade as it descended, pressing into the flesh below his ribcage. Cioccolata grabbed his hip with his other hand to hold him down and pushed the blade through his skin with a sickening tug.

Giorno gasped, trying to flinch away but Cioccolata pushed him flat again, continuing the cut toward the center of his stomach.

Giorno bit back a cry, taking a moment to catch his breath while Cioccolata put the scalpel down. He turned back with a smirk and unceremoniously slipped his fingers into the cut, reaching inside Giorno's abdominal cavity.

Giorno screamed, unable to stop himself, wrenching at the manacles. He could barely hear Mista shouting past the blood surging through his ears. He could feel Cioccolata's hands groping inside of him, horrifically invasive, grasping things they shouldn't.

There was a dreadful tugging feeling accompanying the agony and Giorno blacked out for a second with a ragged cry. When he blinked again, he heard Cioccolata laughing and looked up in terror to see the man holding something. Giorno's horror-stricken mind supplied that it was his own liver. He whimpered in terror.

"Good, yes, so good!" Cioccolata crowed as tears streamed down Giorno's face, breath staggering as he could taste blood in the back of his throat.

"You bastard! You fix him!" Mista was shouting, looking practically ready to rip his hands off to get free.

Giorno could feel consciousness slipping away quickly, bile rising in the back of his throat as Cioccolata set Giorno's displaced organ down on his stomach.

Everything blurred, but Giorno thought he heard a crash and he was also pretty sure he had seen Cioccolata's laughing head topple from his shoulders but he might be hallucinating at the moment.

Just like he was definitely hallucinating Bucciarati's face hovering over him, mouth moving in unheard words before he completely lost his hold on consciousness.

XXX

"Giorno, hey, you waking up?"

Giorno scrunched his nose, forcing his eyes open to look up at Mista. The gunman was slumped against the side of the couch inside the turtle, Giorno's head resting in his lap.

"Mm," he tried, but couldn't manage anything more than that. Everything hurt.

"Hey kiddo," Mista said, plopping his hand down in Giorno's hair, relief flooding his eyes as he offered a small smile.

"Wha 'appened?" Giorno slurred, reaching up weakly to press his hand against his stomach, feeling the lump of bandages stretching across his torso under his clothes.

"Bucciarati and the others found us," Mista told him. "Just in time too."

As if on cue, Bucciarati appeared in the turtle from above and looked relieved to see Giorno was awake. He offered a small smile. "You're looking a bit better, raggazo mio. How do you feel?"

Giorno sighed, blinking. "Not too bad," he lied.

Bucciarati saw through him in an instant and crouched down, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. "I'm afraid all I was able to do was put you back together with zippers. I had hoped that you would be able to heal yourself once the drug wears off enough for you to call on your Stand."

"I was able to manifest the Pistols a little bit ago, though they were exhausted," Mista assured him. "You should be able to soon."

Giorno started to push himself up, before he gasped at the sudden pain that ripped through him, causing Mista and Bucciarati to steady him.

"Easy, Giorno."

"Don't…have time…" Giorno gritted out. "Have to…"

"We already retrieved our contact," Bucciarati assured him. "We're in a hotel room right now, making plans on where to go next. We have time for you to heal."

Giorno didn't want to admit how much relief that gave him. He slumped back on the couch and Mista rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

Bucciarati came over and gave him some pain killers. "Just rest for a little bit longer until you're able to heal yourself. We'll fill you in on everything later."

Giorno nodded and closed his eyes, feeling Bucciarati's fingers brush through his hair once before he fell asleep. As horrible as this situation had been, it couldn't have had a much worse outcome than this.

Chapter 15: That's Where the Blood's Supposed to Be: Bucciarati

Summary:

Abbacchio really wishes Bruno would pay more attention to his own well-being, but it's probably too much to ask, so all he can do is make sure he's there when needed.

Notes:

Today we have Bruno in his natural habitat of being really bad about taking care of himself. Abbacchio is in his natural habitat of being done.

Prompts Used: bleeding thru the bandages | pressure | blood-matted hair

Abbacchio had expected to find Bucciarati pinned down by the enemy, in some desperate position that he would need Abbacchio's help to get out of, but when Abbacchio got to the place his boss had mentioned in the call, he was horrified to find the other man slumped against the wall of an alley, just out of the reach of the streetlight.

Abbacchio was genuinely scared he was too late even though it had only taken him five minutes to get here from his apartment.

"Bucciarati!" he shouted as he burst into a run, careening the rest of the way into the alley.

To his relief, though, Bruno's head came up, blinking sluggishly. "Ah…Abbacchio."

"What the hell happened?" the ex-cop demanded, still looking around for anyone who might be lurking in the shadows. Bucciarati had sounded out of breath when he'd called and Abbacchio had assumed he'd been running, but now…

Even in the dim light, he could clearly see the red adorning the front of Bucciarati's white suit.

"Is that your blood?" he demanded.

Bucciarati glanced down as if surprised, pressing a hand to his side, but making no answer. Abbacchio crouched with a curse, reaching out to unceremoniously grab Bucciarati's wrist, pulling his hand away from the spot. Bruno winced slightly.

"I asked if you were bleeding?" he demanded.

"Hmm," was all that Bruno replied, not leaving Abbacchio feeling any better.

He gritted his teeth and unbuttoned Bruno's coat, pulling it open.

What he saw made him swallow hard. Bruno had obviously tried to tend to whatever injury he had gotten because there were bandages wrapped messily around his middle, though whatever he had done hadn't worked because blood was seeping through them at an alarming rate.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded. "Why didn't you call me earlier?"

"Was fine, earlier."

"Like hell—how long have you had this?" Abbacchio snapped. "You obviously had enough time to find something to bandage it with." He experimentally peeled back some of the bandages to see if he could determine how bad it would be to move Bruno right now.

Bruno hissed and his eyes fluttered, head dipping toward his chest.

"Hey," Abbacchio snapped, reaching out to prop his head back up, getting even more worried as he found sticky, blood-matted hair under his fingers. "You need to stay awake. Now come on, my apartment's close, let's go get you fixed up."

Bruno nodded in resignation, and allowed Abbacchio to help him to his feet, though his body was rigid with pain and he let out a sharp gasp that he obviously tried to muffle from behind clenched teeth, leaning heavily against Abbacchio.

Abbacchio started them forward a couple steps before Bucciarati balked and gripped his coat to stop him, swaying.

"W-wait," he groaned and before Abbacchio could ask, he doubled over and vomited on the ground, arms wrapped around his middle, gasping in pain.

"Shit," Abbacchio breathed as he barely managed to keep Bruno upright. He really needed to figure out whether the nausea was from his head or the hole in his gut.

"Sorry," Bruno gasped, weakly wiping his mouth, as if he had to apologize to Abbacchio for nearly throwing up on his shoes.

"It's fine, come on." It wasn't really fine, but not for the reasons Bruno was probably thinking in his ridiculous head.

Abbacchio was glad that he still had his tiny rundown apartment on this side of town. Bruno had been looking for one he, Abbacchio and Fugo could all stay in for convivence and safety, but they hadn't made the move yet. Probably for the better, because in this apartment complex, no one would ask if they saw Abbacchio dragging a bloody man back to his room.

Once he kicked the door closed behind him, he took Bucciarati instantly toward the bathroom and simply lowered him into the tiny bathtub, knowing it would be easier all around to get him cleaned up there.

Now in the stark lighting, Abbacchio could clearly see how rough Bucciarati looked. The whole front of his jacket was soaked in blood, and the left side of his head was also bleeding, blood matting his hair on that side and making it into a stringy mess. From the way he was acting, Abbacchio was afraid he might have a concussion.

"Hey," he said sharply in an attempt to get Bruno's attention. "Do you have anyone following you?"

Bruno shook his head. "No. Got them."

Abbacchio gritted his teeth, again wondering why Bucciarati had decided to do whatever mission this had been alone. Especially when he had apparently already been wounded.

"Alright, I'm taking this off," he said, tugging Bruno's jacket down his shoulders and maneuvering the mostly limp man out of it before he turned to the bandages.

With a deep sigh, Abbacchio stood and went to wash his hands thoroughly before digging under his sink for his extensive first aid kit that he kept for emergencies just like this, because even though he'd only been with Bruno for around six months, this was already too much of a normal occurrence.

He opened it up and knelt back down with a pair of medical scissors to cut the bandages away. He was not surprised to find a glint of gold there. Bruno's favorite pastime was applying zippers where stitches and disinfectants were supposed to go, usually to his detriment.

Like this time, when there was obviously still blood seeping from the wound at a worryingly steady pace. At least he'd been found out before it could get infected though, Abbacchio thought wryly.

"I need you to get rid of this," Abbacchio said, motioning to the zipper. "What the hell happened to you?"

Bruno sighed and his Stand's hand covered his own, touching the zipper that was just to the right of his navel, and it disappeared, leaving a hole trickling blood.

"Knife," Bruno said.

"Anything else I need to know about?"

The other man shook his head before he winced and closed his eyes again.

Abbacchio was still worried about his head, but he had to stop the bleeding first.

He reached for a towel and pushed it against the wound, slipping his other hand behind Bruno's back as a brace when he pressed harder.

Bruno made a strangled sound, attempting to curl up, a hand gripping Abbacchio's elbow hard, but the goth didn't let up.

"You're still bleeding, we gotta keep that blood inside—you know, where it's supposed to be," he grunted.

Bruno panted, tilting his head back as he grabbed onto the sides of the tub, knuckles white. "Shit," he cursed.

Abbacchio ignored him as he kept the pressure on the wound, focused on the task of stopping the bleeding while Bruno seemed to be trying to even out his breathing. His eyes fluttered open on occasion and his pupils looked blown and irregular, pretty much confirming that he had a concussion. Abbacchio swallowed worriedly and peeled up the towel, peering underneath at the significantly slowed flow of blood.

"Finally," he grunted, pressing the towel back down and grabbing one of Bruno's hands, pushing it against the towel as the injured man cringed. "Keep pressure on this. I'm gonna clean this and then close it up."

"Can use Sticky," Bruno murmured.

"No way, I'm sewing this closed," Abbacchio snapped, leaving no room for argument.

Bruno seemed too tired to protest, simply slumped back in the tub, wincing as he put pressure on his own wound.

Abbacchio quickly grabbed saline, first using that to flush the wound. It appeared that, miraculously, nothing vital had been hit, but he would still be keeping an eye on it to make sure Bruno wasn't suffering any internal injuries. When he was done with that, he used disinfectant to clean the rest.

The first part had been painful, but as soon as the peroxide hit, Bruno arched back and cried out.

"Sorry," Abbacchio apologized sincerely. "Would have given you something to dull the pain but you took all my damn alcohol."

The sarcasm fell flat, but Bruno probably didn't hear it anyway, looking barely conscious at this point. Abbacchio swiftly cleaned up the area around the wound, and then adjusted Bucciarati so that he was lying more flat in the tub at a better angle for him to sew the wound shut.

It wasn't that wide, so it didn't take more than five stitches. After that was done, Abbacchio turned to Bucciarati's head wound.

He removed the clips from his hair first and set them on the counter, before slipping his fingers under the black strands and finding a large, blood-crusted lump toward the back of his skull on left side.

Abbacchio pressed his lips together worriedly and turned the facet on. The water brought Bruno back around and he grunted slightly as Abbacchio maneuvered him under the flow, washing the blood from his hair at the same time he searched the wound, poking and prodding it.

Bruno hissed, trying to tilt his head away.

"Hey, look at me for a second," Abbacchio said, bracing his head between his hands and tilting Bruno toward the light.

He did and blinked, giving Abbacchio enough time to see that yes, he definitely had a concussion. At least that explained the vomiting and there was probably not some kind of internal injury from the knife wound. He'd be a lot worse off already if that had been the case.

Abbacchio sighed. "Alright, well, you're concussed."

Bruno wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Don't think 's too bad."

"Yeah well, we'll see if the memory loss comes into play before the night's over," Abbacchio grunted. He should probably take Bucciarati to a hospital, but he knew better than to do that. He'd keep an eye on him that night and if he got worse, then maybe he would consider it more strongly.

He disinfected the head wound too and straightened up. "All right, just stay there for a couple minutes."

He left to go give Fugo a quick call so he knew what was going on and wasn't worried when Bucciarati didn't come back. He offered for the teen to come over and Fugo told him he would come to spell him later in the night.

That suited Abbacchio fine, knowing someone was going to have to keep an eye on Bruno to make sure he didn't get worse. And Fugo knew just as well as he did how bad a patient Bruno was.

Once he ended the call, he grabbed some of his own sleep clothes and returned to the bathroom, thankfully finding Bruno still there, blinking slowly at him, he showed him the clothes.

"I know they'll be too big, but that's all I have," he said with a shrug.

"It's fine," Bucciarati replied, sounding exhausted.

Abbacchio took mercy on him and helped him out of the tub, having to go slow as the sudden movement again seemed to bring on another bout of nausea that took a couple moments to abate. He wrapped bandages around Bruno's middle as extra padding and helped him into the comfortable clothes. The sleeves of the shirt dangled almost past his fingertips but he didn't seem to mind at the moment. He just leaned tiredly on Abbacchio as he helped him out of the bathroom.

It was a tossup between the couch and the bed because neither were particularly comfortable, but the bed was a little better and he wouldn't have to dig out extra bedding, so he led Bruno into his bedroom, actually glad he hadn't made the bed that morning, as it was much easier to get his wounded companion under the blankets.

"Thank you, Leone," Bruno said softly once he was settled, looking a lot more comfortable. "I'm sorry for all the trouble."

Abbacchio sighed, pulling the chair over from his tiny desk in the corner and sitting on it backwards. "It's not a problem, I just wish you would tell me you need help before you get stabbed or shot and I have to sew you back together."

Bruno's eyes blinked open tiredly, but his expression was genuine. Abbacchio hoped this wasn't just the concussion talking. "I know. I just get so caught up sometimes. Don't even think about it."

"Just call me before you're bleeding out in some alley next time," Abbacchio pleaded, running a hand over his face.

"No, you're right, it's irresponsible," Bruno said quietly. "I just forget sometimes that I have people to watch my back now." He glanced over, meeting Abbacchio's eyes sincerely. "I am forever grateful to you and Fugo. I hope you know that."

Abbacchio sighed, resting his chin across his folded arms. "We feel the same about you too, you know," he admitted, only slightly gruffly.

Bruno's lips turned up slightly. "We make a good team. I would like to keep us together."

"Me too," Abbacchio grunted.

Bruno sighed and shifted, getting comfortable before his eyes slid shut and he seemed to fall into a somewhat peaceful sleep. Abbacchio knew better than to think this would be the last time this happened, but he was positive that he would be there again next time to pick up the pieces in whatever capacity he was needed.

That's what family did.

 

Chapter 16: They Made Me Do It: Kakyoin & Jotaro

Summary:

Jotaro is overtaken by a Stand while on the street that makes him turn on Kakyoin.

Notes:

Jotaro and Kakyoin possession angst today.

Prompts Used: demon (but it's actually a Stand)

Jotaro followed Kakyoin down the street, hands shoved into his pockets as he looked around the city. By now, he'd kind of adjusted to the culture shock of seeing so many different places so quickly, but it was still overwhelming, especially with the amount of people who always seemed to be on the streets in the big cities. He would be lying if he said he didn't prefer it when they were out in the desert. It was quieter, for one, but it was also easier to spot an enemy.

Someone slammed into his shoulder in the press and Jotaro felt an instant surge of adrenaline, Star Platinum stirring inside of him, too hyperaware after all the fights they had gotten into. But the man didn't attack, he just continued on with his own business.

"How about this place?" Kakyoin asked, pulling Jotaro back to the present.

"Whatever is fine with me," he replied.

Kakyoin shrugged and started to cross the busy street to get to the food stand and buy some dinner. That's what the old man had sent them out to do while he made some calls.

Jotaro started to follow him, but this man walking down the sidewalk suddenly seemed to trip, pitching forward and using Jotaro to stop himself from falling, slamming into his chest and grabbing fistfuls of his coat.

"Watch it," Jotaro grunted, fighting the urge to shake the man off.

"Ah, I'm so sorry, please forgive me," the man said, hands making far too much contact with Jotaro as he steadied himself, gripping the teen's arm. Jotaro pulled away in annoyance and tugged his hat over his eyes, hurrying across the street.

He checked his pockets, but thankfully his wallet was still there, so if the guy had been trying to pick-pocket him he had failed. Still, he could almost feel the man's lingering touch in a very strange way. Like he needed a shower or something. The spot he had grabbed Jotaro's forearm almost…burned.

"Hey, there you are," Kakyoin called as he strode up to the food stand.

"Did you order?" Jotaro asked, eager to be back at the hotel.

"Yeah, it will just be a minute." Kakyoin's brows furrowed. "What's wrong, Jotaro? You seem on edge."

Jotaro resisted the strong urge to reach over and touch the spot on his forearm that still feel slightly itchy, instead shoving his hands back in his pockets. "Nothing. Just tired."

"Well, looks like the food's ready, so we can head back now," Kakyoin said, paying the man at the stand and taking the bag of food before they started to head back toward the hotel.

Jotaro thought he would feel relief now that they were heading back to the hotel, but he actually just continued to feel more and more on edge as they walked. It was almost like this sort of malaise was coming over his mind and he found himself staring at Kakyoin's back, then focusing on his neck, thinking about how easy it would be to reach out and strangle him from behind…

What the hell? Where had that come from? Jotaro blinked, then realized he'd pulled his hands from his pockets and had clenched them into fists.

The burn in Jotaro's arm started up again and he reached over to yank his sleeve up, seeing a red mark that was shaped like a handprint.

"Kak—" he tried to say in warning, but his mouth snapped shut as if forced, cutting him off.

Kakyoin turned around with a frown. "Jotaro? Is something—?"

Jotaro's hand shot out and grabbed him by the front of his coat, shoving Kakyoin into an alley to their left so they were off the street.

"What is it? Jotaro—agh!"

Jotaro's other hand swung and hit Kakyoin square in the face, sending him to the ground, sprawling, losing his grip on the bag of food.

Kakyoin scrambled back up and away but Jotaro couldn't stop his body from moving forward as much as he was trying to scream at himself to stop.

"Jotaro! This is a Stand attack, isn't it?" Kakyoin demanded, wiping blood from under his nose.

Jotaro felt his mouth twisting into an unnatural grin. "Nah. Just wanted to do this for a long time," a gargled version of his voice said as he kicked Kakyoin square in the chest and sent him back to the ground, his head bouncing off the hard street.

Kakyoin rolled over with a groan, and Hierophant Green burst from him, only to be met by Star Platinum who Jotaro hadn't called out.

Star grabbed Hierophant around the throat and Kakyoin gasped, hand going to his neck where the press of invisible fingers could be seen.

Jotaro stepped forward and hauled him up by the front of his coat, swinging him around and slamming him against the wall. Kakyoin cried out, breath leaving his body, as Jotaro started throwing merciless punches at the smaller teen.

Kakyoin fought back and defended himself, but he could only do so much against the onslaught, especially since Star still had a hold of Hierophant.

"J-Jotaro," Kakyoin choked out as he tried to get a foot up to push Jotaro away, but Jotaro just slammed him back against the wall with one hand and threw a painful punch to the side of Kakyoin's knee with the other.

The redhead gasped in pain, collapsing, which gave Jotaro the chance to start kicking him.

Stop this! Stop! Jotaro pleaded with himself. As his body refused to listen no matter how hard he fought to move himself, to gain back control. He just kept kicking Kakyoin's curled up figure. Star Platinum and Hierophant had disappeared by now; it was just Jotaro and whatever was in his body, determined to grind Kakyoin into the ground with the heel of his boot.

And then Kakyoin went completely limp and terror flowed through Jotaro, fearing the worst. Had he…had he just killed his friend?

The thing possessing him chuckled, and reached down, grabbing a fistful of Kakyoin's hair and hauling him up from the bloody pavement.

"Hey," he said, slapping Kakyoin across the face and leaning in.

Kakyoin's eyes suddenly shot open as he reached up and grabbed the lapels of Jotaro's coat, holding him still.

"I'm sorry, Jotaro," he said firmly before Hierophant burst out of him and forced its way right down Jotaro's throat.

Jotaro staggered back in shock, falling on his ass, as Hierophant slithered into him, and then he felt something else shift. Agony jolted through his body and he was finally able to cry out with his own voice as Hierophant made his exit, taking something with him.

The instant the thing was out of him, Jotaro collapsed, gasping, shaking, every nerve on edge.

"Star…" he croaked.

Star Platinum didn't need any encouragement, he burst out and threw a furious flurry of punches at the enemy Stand still in Hierophant's grasp. The Stand struggled and screamed until it eventually went limp and disappeared.

Across the street, Jotaro heard a commotion, and had a feeling that was where the Stand user was hiding, hopefully in critical condition now.

Jotaro just lay there on the ground for a long moment, breathing, getting the feel of his body again. Kakyoin sank back down the wall with a grunt, arm wrapped around his ribs, neither of them saying anything.

Finally, Jotaro pushed himself up on shaky limbs and made his way over to the redhead, crouching next to him.

"Hey, you good?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

Kakyoin huffed a short laugh, reaching up to wipe blood from his face. "I've been better."

Jotaro sat down next to him, leaning up against the wall and rummaging in his pocket for a cigarette. He found a handkerchief too and handed that to Kakyoin.

"Don't know how I let that happen," Jotaro grunted, taking way too many tries to ignite his lighter, hands aching, bruised and split from the unwilling assault he'd just made on his friend.

"It was an attack, it's not your fault." Kakyoin said, spitting a bit of blood out of his mouth.

"Should have been more alert. We don't have the luxury of letting our guard down."

"Look, I know what it's like…not having control of yourself," Kakyoin said. "But you can't blame yourself for it. I don't."

"I could have killed you," Jotaro muttered, looking away as he took a deep drag on his cigarette.

"Any of us could die any day through some Stand attack or otherwise," Kakyoin said. "And we handled this."

"Still," Jotaro said. "If you hadn't…"

"We have each other's backs," Kakyoin told him with a slightly lopsided smile, licking his split lip. "That's why we're a team. No one should have to do this kind of thing alone, JoJo."

Jotaro pulled the cigarette from between his lips and breathed out a puff of smoke. "Well, thanks. And…sorry for beating the shit out of you."

Kakyoin huffed a laugh and winced. "Yeah, well, I figure you owed me one."

Jotaro's lips twitched, but he was finally steady enough to stand. He stamped out the cigarette butt on the ground and reached down to offer Kakyoin a hand up.

"Come on, let's get back to the hotel so you can get cleaned up."

Kakyoin staggered to his feet and Jotaro let him lean on his shoulder as they made their way back to the hotel.

"What about dinner?" Kakyoin asked.

Jotaro snorted. "Jiji can go get it."

Kakyoin huffed a laugh and they continued on.

 

Notes:

Hey! If you've been following my whumptober fics so far ( thank you so much!) the next three days will be posted as a separate story as the prompts are connected as one story. After that I'll be back to posting one-shots here.

Chapter 17: I'm Fine, I Prom...: Fugo

Summary:

Fugo just wants to be helpful, but it turns out that it might be to his detriment.

Notes:

This one is set Pre-series when it was just Bruno and Fugo :') I love Fugo angst so I thought I would write some.

Prompts Used: passing out | vertigo | collapse

Fugo shuffled through the last of the documents, making notes, and stacking them neatly to the side for Bucciarati to sign tomorrow—well, actually in about an hour, Fugo realized. He had been working all night long, trying to keep himself distracted. He never slept well—too many nightmares, but there was more to worry about now that he had people counting on him.

While Fugo may have passed Polpo's lighter test, the fact that his Stand was practically unusable had left him feeling somewhat obsolete and useless. Even though Bucciarati assured him that he would eventually get to know his Stand and be better equipped to use it, Fugo could hardly bear to look at the horrific creature, let alone try to figure out what to do with it. Purple Haze reminded him too much of what he felt like, what he truly was on the inside. This horrible, toxic disappointment who ruined everything he touched. He'd warned Bucciarati of that too, but the young man seemed insistent in taking Fugo on despite that.

Which was why Fugo was determined to be useful in some way. He knew Bucciarati had a huge workload, too much for one person, really, and today he'd come back so late from the meeting with Polpo and looked so tired that Fugo had decided to stay up and do the paperwork for him so he wouldn't have to deal with that tomorrow and nothing would be late.

He hadn't realized it would take all night, but it didn't really matter. He actually enjoyed it. It was better this, keeping his mind busy, than lying in bed plagued by nightmares that made him feel like he wanted to claw his skin off.

So, when Bucciarati stumbled out of bed, rubbing his eyes to try and pretend to be awake, Fugo had already made tea and coffee for them, figuring he might as well stay up the rest of the time.

"You finished all of this?" Bucciarati asked, bewildered as he looked at the considerable stack of papers on his desk.

"Yes," Fugo replied. "They are only awaiting your signature. I took notes on everything and I'll share that with you over breakfast if you would like so you don't have to read through them yourself."

Bucciarati looked completely shocked, but he gave Fugo a grateful smile. "You have no idea how helpful this is, Fugo. Thank you."

Fugo ducked his head but felt a warm, unfamiliar something shifting in his chest. Praise. For something he did purposefully to help someone. Someone that he genuinely looked up to. This was new. And Fugo decided he didn't mind the feeling.

However, he wasn't so stupid as to think it would last. He was sure that Bucciarati would only start to expect more and more of him until eventually nothing would be good enough. That was how it always went. But that was okay. Fugo was used to that and until that time, he would enjoy the feeling while it lasted.

XXX

"Fugo, could you please run an errand for me?" Bucciarati asked.

Fugo looked up, slightly groggy from a terrible night's sleep. Well, 'sleep' was perhaps inaccurate as he hadn't done much of that, getting up to work in the office halfway through the night after only horrid nightmares plagued him.

But he was always willing to do something when Bucciarati asked.

"Of course," he said.

"Thank you, I need you to take these to Signore Gallo. You know where his business is?"

Fugo nodded, and took the letters. He would have to go to the other side of town for this, but it was fine. These days, he was looking for anything to distract him—and distract Bucciarati from getting him to train with his Stand. Just the thought of looking at it made him want to vomit.

He delivered the letters and by that time it was around noon. His stomach growled sickly. He realized then that he had missed breakfast, having only a cup of tea, and he hadn't actually eaten that much the night before either. Fugo couldn't recall how many meals he'd missed within the last couple weeks. Certainly, with all the things he and Bucciarati had to do, it was rare they got to sit down for three meals a day, but Fugo had missed more considering his eagerness to work, or, on his worse days, his hiding away in his room at night when everything was done. On those nights, Bucciarati always left him a plate of food, but he always forgot about it the next day.

In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn't sustainable behavior, but he didn't know how to correct it, and, frankly, he didn't have time.

He promised himself he would eat something when he got back to the apartment.

Unfortunately, the second he was back, Bucciarati was already heading out the door, looking grim.

"What happened?" Fugo asked.

"There's a couple people who didn't pay protection this month. Polpo asked me to go make sure they do."

Fugo swallowed hard, knowing well enough what that meant. He'd gone on one of these missions before, and had been somewhat shocked at the cold interior Bucciarati possessed when he needed it, seeming far more seasoned than his young age would imply.

"You don't have to come," Bucciarati told him then, more quietly.

But Fugo blanched. "No! You'll need backup. This is part of the job, right?"

Bucciarati gave him a look Fugo couldn't quite read, but he nodded and the two of them left without a word, climbing into the car they were using currently.

The first one thankfully went without a hitch, the man simply handing over the money, claiming he had forgotten what time of the month it was. The second one though, did not take as kindly to them showing up, or to Bucciarati's threats.

"If Polpo thinks he can send a whelp and an actual child here to shake me down, he can climb his fat ass over here himself," the man growled.

Fugo bristled, but Bucciarati stepped into the man's personal space, eyes dark.

"Signore, I would suggest you do not insult my capo. Moreover, I am here in his place, and because of that I carry his authority. You should be grateful that he allows you to pay protection. I don't think you would like to find out what would happen if you didn't."

"I don't have the damn money," the man snarled. "Come back next week."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," Bucciarati said. "Pay now, or lose Polpo's business."

"Good riddance," the man spat.

"I will pass on your message then. Enjoy your business for as long as it lasts."

They turned and left, but Fugo heard a shift behind them.

"Hold on a second."

Something grabbed for him, a hand snagging the back of his coat, and Fugo froze, horrid memories surfacing, ones he tried so, so hard to push down.

Purple Haze burst out with a wretched scream and Fugo watched Bucciarati stagger back from reaching out to help Fugo, eyes wide with shock.

The man screamed, the sound soon becoming garbled as Purple Haze grabbed him around the throat and infected him with the toxin. Fugo could only watch as the man melted before his eyes into a horrid puddle.

Fugo was breathing heavily, trying to even fathom what he did.

"Fugo," he heard Bucciarati's calm voice through the pounding in his ears.

He took another shuddering breath, dizziness suddenly assaulting him as he swayed on his feet.

Purple Haze thankfully vanished, and Fugo felt like something had released its hold on him. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew it had just been his own Stand, he probably would have thought he was possessed.

"Fugo? Let's get outside," Bucciarati said, still calm, opening the door.

Fugo took another deep breath and turned, slowly moving toward the door as if he were under water.

Bucciarati had already pulled out his phone and was calling someone, probably for a clean-up. Fugo just stood there, still not knowing what to do, his hands were shaking, he felt sick and light-headed.

"Thank you," Bucciarati said and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Fugo, we need to go report this to Polpo before he hears it from someone else. You understand?"

Fugo felt the nausea cramp his stomach as he realized exactly what he had done. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"No, he attacked you first. You did what was expected," Bucciarati assured him.

But Fugo was shaking his head, still trying to figure out where he was. Bucciarati didn't approach him, but he did duck his head slightly to get a better look at his face. "Are you okay? Fugo?"

"I—I'm fine," Fugo said, but his voice was weak and he was feeling light-headed again. Another wave of dizziness crashed over him and he swayed.

"Fugo!"

Bucciarati's worried voice was the last thing he had heard before he felt himself falling, a hard impact slamming him into the darkness completely.

XXX

Fugo woke to someone pressing something to his forehead and then felt fingers removing his tie and loosening his collar.

Terror spiked through him and he reached up, grabbing the wrist attached to the hand, eyes flying open.

"It's all right, it's just me, just Bruno," Bucciarati's voice filtered in, despite the fact that Fugo's sight was swimming until he blinked and got a breath in. "I'm just making sure you can breathe."

Fugo took a shuddering breath and finally his eyes cleared, seeing they were back in the apartment. He was lying on the couch and Bucciarati was kneeling beside it, a wet cloth held in one hand.

"What…?" he murmured, trying to recall what happened.

"You passed out after Purple Haze took out that man," Bucciarati told him, reaching out to lay the cloth over Fugo's forehead again, the cool feeling helping to ease some of the headache pounding behind his eyes. "Was it very overwhelming to summon your Stand or, was it…everything else?"

"I…I don't know," Fugo swallowed hard, not wanting to talk about it.

Bucciarati reached for a glass of water and helped prop Fugo's head up to drink. He gulped down the water, realizing then just how thirsty he was.

"Easy," Bucciarati said. "You might make yourself sick."

Fugo's stomach gurgled and he flushed in embarrassment, pressing a hand over his belly, hoping to quell the nausea.

"Are you hungry?" Bucciarati asked with his eyebrows pinched. "You didn't eat anything today, did you?"

Fugo glanced away, but shook his head.

"Did you eat last night?"

"A little," Fugo murmured.

Bucciarati sat back on his heels. "I have noticed that sometimes you don't eat the food I leave for you. Are you eating much at all, Fugo? Because, if I'm being honest, you're looking a little thin. I couldn't help but notice that when I carried you in here."

Fugo didn't know what to say. This was such a stupid conversation that they really shouldn't've had to have. He should know that he needs to eat.

And yet…he had been neglecting that. As well as sleep. It's no wonder a little adrenaline had sent him over the edge.

Bucciarati silently got up and returned a few moments later with a bowl of heated up soup and crackers.

"You might not feel up to eating, but you need to try to get something into your stomach," he insisted.

Fugo pushed himself into a sitting position, mostly not dizzy anymore. He carefully wrapped his hands around the bowl and drank some of the broth. It was hard at first, but after a few sips, his stomach got used to having food in it and by the time he was done, he was warm and felt better.

Bucciarati sat on the coffee table. "I know I forget sometimes too. I have a bad habit of getting busy, not sleeping—I think we're both a lot like that." He smiled wryly. "But just because we have a lot of work, doesn't mean we need to run ourselves into the ground. While it's still only the two of us, let's share the work equally. That means no more working through the night. For either of us."

"I know, I just…I want to be useful," Fugo admitted tiredly.

"Fugo," Bucciarati told him firmly. "You do not have to earn your keep here with me. I value your intelligence above all else. You help me every day just by being here. Take your time to learn about your Stand and if anyone pushes you to do differently, I will have a word with them personally."

Fugo felt that swell of warm gratitude wash through him again and this time, he didn't allow himself to be jaded about it. Bucciarati was not like his parents. Not like everyone else who expected everything from him and when he gave it, only wanted more. He had never had a real friend before, but he thought he could call Bucciarati that. He had a feeling that Bucciarati would never expect more from him than he knew he could give. There was a reason he was the only person in the world who made Fugo feel safe.

"Thank you," he found himself saying sincerely.

"Of course, Pannacotta," Bucciarati said softly, using his given name.

Fugo promised himself then that he would do better. Better by himself, and in that way, he would also be able to do better by Bucciarati.

Notes:

If you enjoy Fugo angst/whump and you missed my fic Mask Off which is made up of the last couple days' prompts and posted as a separate 3-parter, you might want to check it out. :)

Chapter 18: It's Not Just In Your Head: Josefumi

Summary:

Josefumi wonders why he can't stop seeing the ghost in the corner of his hospital room.

Notes:

My first Jojolion fic! I actually had this idea before whumptober, but decided to write it as one of the prompts. I just really wanted to expand a little on Josefumi's childhood, his relationship with Holly and how Soft and Wet originally manifested so here's my headcanon with that.

I'll warn for Jojolion spoilers just in case but nothing in in this story really hinges on anything but backstory and doesn't ruin any of the major plot points in the story.

Prompts Used: 'good you're finally awake' | nightmares | panic

He was drowning. He tried to swim up, but the waves kept crashing down on him, slamming him against the rocks, the water choking him. He could see his mother just standing there on the shore, staring, not doing anything.

"Mama!" he tried to call, but the water only flooded his mouth, forcing its way down into his lungs. He couldn't breathe, the cold water stealing his breath, the waves pushing him harder and harder against the rocks…

Josefumi flailed and cried out, his voice only a croak, gasping for breath finally.

"Shh, it's okay," a soft voice said, soothing. Equally soft hands accompanied it, petting his hair in a kind way. "You're going to be okay now, sweetheart, I promise."

When he finally blinked his eyes open he could see a woman bending over him, her eyes kind, a soft glow of light illuminated behind her head like a halo. Josefumi thought, for a brief moment, that she might be an angel, come to save him where his mother hadn't.

And then he remembered. He was in the hospital. He was still hooked up to wires. This was Doctor Holly Kira who had been taking care of him since he got here.

He glanced around but there was no one else in the small room.

"Wh-where's mama?" he asked.

Holly's face softened impossibly further and she reached out to stroke his hair again. "She went home to get some rest, sweetie. You should get some sleep too."

Josefumi felt suddenly so very alone. He hadn't seen his mother once since he had been here. He wondered if she had ever stayed at all. Wetness pricked at his eyes, which he fought to hold back.

"Mama? Are we going home yet?"

Josefumi looked over to see a little girl standing in the doorway, holding a stuffed animal.

Holly glanced over. "I'm going to have to stay a little longer tonight, Kyou-chan. Please tell Yoshikage to take you home. There's dinner in the fridge."

"Oh, okay," the little girl said, sounding slightly dejected. "Will you be home later?"

"Of course, darling. I'll still come kiss you goodnight," Holly smiled at her.

The little girl nodded, then turned to Josefumi, looking at him with wide eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

Josefumi didn't know what to say to that, but thankfully, Holly stepped in. "He still needs a lot of rest, but I am sure he will be better soon."

The little girl gave a small smile and waved before she ducked out of the room.

Holly turned back to Josefumi. "You should try to sleep now. I promise I'll come check back on you later," she said kindly.

Josefumi was too tired to argue, and found himself slipping off.

The next few days were a blur. He had constant nightmares that would have him waking up in a panic. The medicine they gave him made his head woozy so he didn't know how long he was asleep for. Only once did he wake up to see his mother sitting in the room, but she was on the phone and didn't even notice he was awake so he just went back to sleep.

Usually it was Holly-san who was there when he woke up, but he had started to notice someone else. Or…something else. He was sure it was part of his dreams, but he didn't know how to describe it.

It was almost like a ghost, because he could see the wall through it, but all it did was sit in the corner of the room and watch him, head cocked to one side. It was kind of funny looking. Like nothing Josefumi had ever seen before.

It was pale blue with an oval head and strange eyes. It kind of looked like a robot, but Josefumi had no idea why a robot ghost would be in his room. He figured it was a product of his injuries and the medicine they had given him. His dreams had been so strange and since no one else had acknowledged the ghost he was sure it was all in his head.

The more he saw it though, the more uneasy he got. Especially when he began to be able to stay awake for longer, eating a little bit of food before he fell back to sleep. All that time the ghost sat there, watching him. It was a little unnerving.

And yet…he didn't feel threatened by it. In fact, there was something about it that was almost… familiar. Like an old friend. Except Josefumi didn't have a lot of friends. He wondered, vaguely, whether this ghost felt so familiar because it was part of him. Maybe part of him broke off and died when he had drowned and was trying to find its way back to him. Maybe that was why he felt so disoriented all the time. He dismissed the thought quickly, though, because he really didn't want to think any more about that.

One night, he woke up with a terribly dry throat. No one was there, so he reached for the cup of water that had been left on the side table for him. He grabbed it with clumsy hands, and some of it spilled, cold, down his chin and onto his shirt.

The feeling of the water splashing on him, filling his mouth too quickly, reminded him way too much of the beach and he felt fear creep into his chest.

Then he actually cried out as the ghost was suddenly standing, or rather, hovering, beside his bed, looking down at the water. Josefumi watched in frozen terror as it held a hand out over him and suddenly bubbles appeared, forming over his shirt, collecting the water inside of them.

Josefumi watched in shock as the bubbles traveled back toward the cup and popped, releasing the water back into it.

"Ora," the ghost said softly, and cocked its head to one side before it finally disappeared.

Josefumi was so confused about this that he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself back to sleep, wishing he would stop having such strange dreams.

But, deep down, he was actually glad that the ghost was there. It made him feel less alone. Even if he was afraid that he might actually be going insane.

XXX

The next time Josefumi woke, he finally started to feel a little more like himself. The sun was shining through the window, and he blinked, soaking up the light. The little robot ghost was still in the corner, but he wasn't watching Josefumi this time, instead looking in the other direction, toward the door.

Josefumi looked over there as well, and saw someone sitting there, just inside the door, a book open across his knee.

It was an older boy, probably a high-schooler, Josefumi thought and wondered why he would be there in his room?

The older boy glanced up, tossing his hair out of his eyes, seeming to notice that Josefumi was up.

"Ah, you're finally awake," he said, sitting straighter. "Doctor Holly-san asked me to sit with you since she was sure you would be waking up soon."

Josefumi tried to sit up a little, trying to keep his eyes away from the ghost who was moving ever closer to him.

"Do…you work here?" Josefumi asked hesitantly, still wondering why this teenage boy would be sitting here.

"Oh, no, Holly's my mother," he admitted with a shrug. "But…sometimes I help her out here after school. Like with you."

Josefumi felt even more confused, but at least he had some explanation for the older boy's appearance now.

"Holly-san's son," he murmured.

"I'm Yoshikage, by the way," the older boy said. "Oh, and…my little sister left you that." He pointed to the side table where a stuffed bear sat.

Josefumi remembered the little girl who had come in to talk to Holly-san. He reached for the bear, but the ghost reached for it at the same time and Josefumi flinched back instinctively, before he realized how odd that would look. He glanced over a bit shamefully at Yoshikage who was watching him with slightly narrowed eyes.

"It's not just in your head, you know."

The words struck Josefumi hard and all he could do was stare at Yoshikage as the older boy stood up and strode over to the other side of the bed, hands shoved into his pockets as he cocked his head at the strange ghost.

The ghost zipped back to his place in the corner as Josefumi blinked, wondering why it looked like the air around Yoshikage was moving strangely.

"They're called Stands," Yoshikage said. "I have one too."

Something suddenly manifested behind him and Josefumi bit back a scream, jumping. The heart monitors he was still hooked up to started to beep faster.

"Don't worry, kid, he's not going to hurt you," Yoshikage said. "In fact, he's already saved your life."

Josefumi settled down, and finally got a good look at the strange figure hovering at Yoshikage's shoulder. It was pink and looked kind of like a cat but also a little like a Roman gladiator.

The little ghost robot cautiously moved from the corner and went over to inspect the figure, making a curious noise.

"W-what are they?"

Yoshikage shrugged again. "Stands are manifestations of the soul or maybe one's fighting spirit."

"W-why do I have one?" Josefumi asked. He had never been very strong.

"Don't know. They can be a family trait, hereditary, but sometimes people just get them. Maybe because you almost died."

Josefumi was still processing this, but he felt a little better to know that he was at least not crazy. That someone else could see the ghost, and actually had one of their own. Were there…even more people who had these Stands?

Yoshikage gave a small smile and his Stand disappeared again. "Not a lot of people have them that I've met, so I guess that makes you pretty special. You know…they say that Stand users often run into each other, some kind of fate thing. It was just happenstance that I was here the day you were brought in. Maybe you already had one and you didn't know it."

Josefumi felt a shiver go down his spine at his words. He glanced toward his own Stand and it moved closer to him until finally he reached out and their fingers touched. The Stand dissipated but Josefumi could still somehow feel it, inside of him.

The door opened and Holly-san came in, smiling as she saw Josefumi sitting up.

"There you are. You're looking a lot better."

Josefumi smiled shyly. "I do finally feel a little better."

"I'm glad to hear it," Holly said and turned to Yoshikage. "Thank you for looking after him. I'm almost done with my rounds and then I'll bring you something to eat, Josefumi."

The boy nodded and watched as Holly exited the room again.

Yoshikage walked over to pick up his book.

"I know it seems like a lot right now, but you'll figure it out. It will come naturally to you, especially when you need it to," Yoshikage told him. "But if you ever need to talk to someone about it, let me know."

Josefumi felt gratitude warm his chest, for Holly-san and her whole family. There was a brief, foolish moment, where he wished he could be part of that family. That Holly and her soft eyes and hands could be his mother instead of the woman who had stood on the beach watching him drown, too frozen to go for help before it was nearly too late.

But, maybe he wasn't so alone anymore either. He felt much less alone with his Stand for company, and knowing that there were people he could go to if he needed help.

"Thank you, Kira-san," he said sincerely.

The older boy turned around with a small smile. "Anytime, kid."

And Josefumi went back to sleep with a small smile while his Stand curled up on the bed next to him.

Chapter 19: All Work and No Play: Rohan

Summary:

Rohan takes way too much work onto his plate and it finally comes back to bite him.

Notes:

Today we have Rohan being overworked.

Also, probably going to double post today because I did write another fic for this prompt and wasn't originally going to post it, but it's not as bad as I thought. So keep an eye out for that this afternoon :)

Prompts Used: overworked

Rohan had a very bad habit of working to excess. At least, that was how other people tended to see it—not him. He considered it a virtue to add to his talents. It was a lot of work plotting manga, making sure the story-lines would work, and then drafting, writing scripts, and finally drawing the official pages. He would often finish weeks in advance so he could take time to research and travel or work on other one-shots.

The fact was, Rohan liked to be busy. He had never been fond of sitting around doing nothing. If it looked like he was doing nothing, it was because he was contemplating plots, often muttering to himself, even in public, trying to figure out where to go with the next arc of Pink Dark Boy. Boredom was the only thing that really scared Rohan. He didn't like to be left alone with his and only his thoughts, trying to poke at childhood traumas he would rather not recall in detail.

That certainly didn't mean he never overworked himself though, and sometimes, even Kishibe Rohan bit off more than he could chew.

Like needing to finish up five chapters of Pink Dark Boy in a week in order to have enough time to finish a one-shot (for a special edition that would be in full color on top of that) and then the publisher had also asked him to do the cover for the month so he had that on top of everything else.

His desk was completely covered, the script for both his manga and one-shot sitting in semi-neat piles, the thumbnails for the cover set to one side where a large Bristol board sat for him to start working on as soon as he was ready for that. As soon as he finished up the pages for the chapter he was working on. After this one, only three more to go.

Rohan's hands were covered in ink; he was starting to feel an annoying cramp in his thumb and wrist, which he ignored. He had been working since early that morning and it was nearly night and—when was the last time he had eaten?

It didn't matter, just one more page to go…

The phone rang and he almost didn't pick it up but when the message machine started playing and he heard the voice of his editor, Rohan growled and grabbed it.

"What?" he demanded.

One of the other mangakas featured in the monthly bind-up had injured their hand and would be going on hiatus. Did Rohan have another chapter ready so they could insert an extra one instead?

Of course he had one ready. However, that meant he would have to do one more chapter for his own backlog.

Rohan grunted in annoyance as he slammed the phone back in the cradle. Rubbing his eyes. They were feeling quite dry and strained. He would make more coffee perhaps. He would pull an all-nighter. He was quite used to those and there was no problem at all. He would get his work done like he always did.

He pulled out the second chapter for the week and started doing the lettering.

It was a monumental task to some, yes, but he was Kishibe Rohan. He would get it done if it killed him.

XXX

The next time he looked at the clock it was around eleven the next morning. His hand felt swollen. His eyes heavy, and yet, there were deadlines he had to meet. His editor was expecting the first draft of his one-shot that day, and he had only just started to work on that.

His back ached, but he just shifted in his seat. He should probably break to eat at some point, his hand was starting to shake too. Annoying thing being human, sometimes. After he finished the thumbnails for the one-shot he would take a break for lunch. And maybe a nap later if he had the time.

Otherwise, he would just grit his teeth and keep working no matter how much his hand cramped. It was only a little longer.

XXX

Josuke groaned as Koichi dragged him and Okuyasu toward Rohan's house on their way home from school.

"I don't see why you have to run errands for him," Josuke grumbled. "Is he paying you?"

"No, I'm doing it as a friend," Koichi said. "Rohan asked me to pick up some groceries yesterday. He's really busy working on multiple projects so he doesn't really have time."

"Whatever," Josuke sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

When they made it to the mangaka's house, Koichi rang the bell, but they got no answer. He knocked a couple seconds later, and Josuke was already getting impatient.

"Just leave it on the porch, he's probably not going to disturb himself enough to come to the door unless he's ready."

"Yeah, I gotta get home," Okuyasu added, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Hold on just a second," Koichi pleaded and summoned Echoes. "I just want to let him know I got the stuff."

He sent his Stand up to the window on the second story where Rohan's office was and tapped on the glass. Josuke was already leaving the porch when he saw Koichi's eyes widen.

"Josuke! Okuyasu! I think something's wrong!"

"What do you mean?" Josuke asked with a sigh.

Koichi reached for the front door, finding it unlocked and hurried inside, throwing the groceries down by the door.

"Koichi!" Josuke said, having to follow now out of curiosity if nothing else.

Koichi ran up the stairs with the others behind him and when they got to Rohan's studio, Josuke finally saw what had gotten Koichi so worked up.

Rohan was lying on the ground, his chair tipped over, a pot of ink spilled across the floor beside him.

"Rohan!"

"What the hell?" Okuyasu asked as the three of them rushed forward, crouching around the mangaka.

Koichi checked his pulse. "He seems to just be unconscious, but…I wonder why?"

Josuke frowned. Rohan did seem to just be sleeping, his breathing was regular and everything, but he looked awful. His skin was pale—paler than usual since he never really went out into the sun—and he had bruise-like circles under his eyes. Looking around further, there was no evidence of anything but work. Papers strewn in what looked to be a haphazard manner and a copious amount of used coffee mugs but no food to be seen.

"If I were to guess, I'd say he overworked himself," Josuke said grimly.

"We should get him into bed," Koichi said and shook his shoulder. "Hey, Rohan? Rohan!"

The mangaka's eyes flickered open, giving all of them a little relief and he let out a soft groan. "Ko-Koichi? Did I….fall asleep?"

He started to push himself up and winced, pulling his right hand to his chest, cradling it. "Shit," he muttered before he swayed slightly.

Josuke and Okuyasu swooped in to help keep him upright. "Whoa, hold on, you look like crap, Rohan," Josuke told him honestly, no malice this time.

Rohan glowered at him. "You're one to talk. Help me up."

"Rohan, you need to rest, it looks like you passed out," Koichi said.

"I'm fine," the mangaka snapped but as he got to his feet, his wobbled, eyes rolling slightly, causing the others to have to grab hold of him again.

"I really think you should rest," Koichi said insistently. "How long have you been working?"

Rohan glanced at the clock and calendar. "What day is it?"

"Friday."

Rohan paled even further. "About…three days?"

"Without sleep?" Koichi demanded.

"I had work to finish, I don't have time for sleep," Rohan protested.

It did little good. The three teenagers practically carried him to his bedroom and installed him in the bed that looked like it hadn't been used for a while. After finding out Rohan had hardly eaten anything in about as long, Okuyasu hurried out to pick up something from Tonio's while Koichi found Rohan's brace for him to wear to help his wrist.

"Can't you fix this, Josuke?" the mangaka asked in annoyance.

"I don't know if I should," Josuke said, folding his arms. "At least not until you eat and get some decent rest."

Rohan ground his teeth at him, but slumped back against the pillows. "It's called work ethic. Not that I would expect you to know what that's like."

Josuke plopped down at the foot of the bed. "I know when to take a break to eat and sleep."

"I have too much to do, I can't sit in bed all day," Rohan protested, sounding desperate now. "I still haven't finished the thumbnails for my one-shot and they're due today! I have ten pages left!"

"Well, what if we help?" Koichi asked.

Rohan snorted. "You?"

"Yeah, they're just thumbnails, right? They just need to give an idea of what's going to go on the page and how to set it up."

Rohan narrowed his eyes, but Koichi was already heading into the studio and he came back a little while later with the previous pages, extra paper, and pencils. "We'll help."

When Okuyasu got back with some warm, hearty soup Tonio had sent for Rohan, they all sat on the bed and, per Rohan's instructions, took turns sketching out the thumbnails with varying degrees of artistic talent.

Rohan groaned tiredly as they finally finished the last page. "I cannot believe I'm actually sending this to my editor…"

"You met your deadline though!" Josuke said with a grin. "Just say you have some new assistants."

Rohan groaned again, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Let's not make a habit of this."

"Maybe you should worry about taking better care of yourself then, and we won't have to," Josuke told him.

Rohan snorted, but peeled his arm back enough to look at all of them with one eye. "I guess I have to say thank you."

Josuke grinned. "No problem."

Rohan sighed tiredly. "Just leave the envelope with the thumbnails on the porch with a note. My editor is used to picking up my stuff like that."

They nodded and got ready to leave, making sure there was food clearly left out in the kitchen for Rohan to find. He had been asleep before they left his bedroom, and Josuke, as promised, had Crazy Diamond heal his hand before he left.

He had a feeling that Rohan had hopefully learned his lesson.

 

Notes:

Also if you are interested in JoJo themed Journals and art nouveau style fanart prints, (currently Giorno, Bruno, Jotaro and Josuke styles) I am running a preorder currently through my etsy shop. You can find the info about that on my Tumblr: https://lady-wallace.tumblr.com/post/666013983816515584/new-jjba-journal-preorders-open

Chapter 20: All Work and No Play (2): Jotaro

Summary:

Jotaro is caught by Dio and does not have a good time.

Notes:

Here's the second post of today. Wasn't originally happy with this one, but it's not too bad-and we can always use more Jotaro whump so I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Prompts Used: 'you're still not dead?' | too weak to move

Jotaro lay crumpled on the floor, eyes closed, just trying to breathe in a way that wasn't agonizing. It wasn't working out for him that well.

He'd made a very stupid mistake. He'd only been a little ahead of Jiji and Kakyoin, but it had apparently been enough for Dio to surprise him and drag him deeper into the mansion making sure they couldn't find him until the vampire was done making a ragdoll out of him.

Or maybe they were dead by now. They still didn't know where Avdol, Polnareff, and Iggy went but Jotaro had begun to really worry about them. They'd been trying to find them when Jotaro had gone and gotten himself captured like a damned idiot.

He tried to lie still, some survival instinct telling him it would be better, but his fight or flight response was telling him to run, now, while he had the chance. While Dio was gone…

He shifted, trying to push himself up on his hands and knees. A groan escaped his lips as agony crushed him and he collapsed back into his elbows.

And then a shadow fell across the floor, followed by a low chuckle as boots clicked on the marble.

"You're still not dead?" Dio's mocking voice sounded out.

Jotaro barely had time to look up before he was on his back, the crack of ribs resounding through the silent room, followed by his own gargled cry.

Dio bent and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. It was pretty much in tatters right now and he'd lost his hat a long time ago, but there was still enough of it for Dio to grab him and shake him with.

"Your friends are proving difficult to find," Dio growled. "I thought taking you as bait would hasten their appearance, but it seems that they are still too stupid to find their way to you—or maybe they just don't think you're worth it." Sharp teeth glinted in a grin as Dio leaned in close. "I'll take you in as one of mine if you want, Jotaro. You'll be more than welcome here."

Jotaro snarled and lashed out, but Dio was too quick, grabbing his clenched fist and wrenching it backwards so hard Jotaro both felt and heard the snap of bone.

He cried out and curled on the ground as Dio released him. He was having to blink back unconsciousness right now. More like shove it away. He manifested Star, and his Stand stood over him protectively, but he looked rough too. Looking less corporeal than usual.

Dio smirked and he started to glow with his own Stand aura. "You think you can defeat me with your pathetic Star Platinum? The World is the most powerful Stand!"

Star lunged forward all the same, sending a volley of punches at Dio with furious ORAs.

Dio's Stand appeared in front of the vampire, deflecting the punches before simply reaching out and grabbing Star around the throat. Jotaro could feel the constriction in his own neck, pressing against his windpipe. He reached up, clawing at nothing. Star tried to pry The World's hands from his throat, but Jotaro's Stand seemed to be weakening. The closer Jotaro got to unconsciousness…

His eyes rolled up in his head, gagging as he collapsed back on the ground, then finally felt the pressure on his throat release as Star dissipated. Jotaro choked air back into his lungs as Dio strode forward, pressing the heel of his boot against Jotaro's chest and pushing him onto his back.

"You know, after you and your little friends took out every single one of my followers, I genuinely expected more from you. But you're really just pathetic, aren't you?" Dio bent, pressing harder until his heel ground into Jotaro's broken ribs, wrenching a strangled groan from his throat.

"You can't defeat me. You can't save your precious mother," Dio chuckled. "Soon the Joestar family bloodline will be no more and I will finally have achieved my ultimate goal."

"Y'know, Dio," Jotaro croaked, trying to make his voice as steady as possible. "I've been wanting to tell you something since I got here."

"And what is that?" Dio asked patronizingly.

"Those boots are the most ugly-ass thing I've ever seen."

Dio's lip curled, before he slammed his heel into Jotaro's middle, deepening the bruises there. Jotaro tried to curl up, to protect himself, but Dio kept delivering punishing blows to his chest and abdomen before he finally reached down, picked him up and threw him halfway across the room.

Jotaro slid across the floor, leaving several streaks of blood before he came to a stop against the wall and stayed there. Breathing hurt, existing hurt. He couldn't move another inch. He should. He should get up and fight, kill Dio while the bastard thought he had the upper hand, but he just had no strength left. His eyes slid shut as he watched Dio's ugly boots stride across the marble floor.

And that was when he remembered his mom, back home, dying without knowing why.

Jotaro felt a surge of fury rush through him and as Dio got close enough he pushed himself upright shakily, meeting the vampire's eyes defiantly.

"Oh-ho. Still not going to just lie down and die, hm, Jotaro?" Dio goaded. "You Joestars really are persistent—"

"ORA!"

The blow to the back of Dio's head sent him staggering forward a couple steps, but it hadn't been nearly as powerful as Jotaro had hoped and by then, The World was out and fending off Star again.

Dio snarled. "Little pissant." He reached down to grab Jotaro again and slammed him against the wall. Jotaro blacked out briefly in agony, and by that time, he felt Dio's long fingernails start to push into his throat. He grabbed at the vampire's wrists, trying to pull him away, but he was too weak, and as soon as Dio's fingers breached his neck he could feel the vampire taking his blood, making him weaker than he already was. His knees buckled, and he gasped, latching onto Dio because he had nothing else to hold him up.

I'm sorry, Mom, he said briefly, feeling so, so heavy.

"Don't worry, Jotaro, I just need a little of your blood to make this body truly mine," Dio crooned in his ear, almost cradling him like a child now. "I don't plan to kill you. I think it would be so much better to make you one of my own puppets to use against your friends."

Jotaro's eyes flew open and he tried to fight but Dio simply let him fall to the ground and stood over him, while Jotaro lay, limp, no strength left.

"Hold still and make this easy on yourself."

Jotaro blinked past the blurriness that was trying to overcome him and watched as the horrific fleshbud tentacles extended from Dio's hair. Jotaro weakly moved an arm over his face in a poor attempt to protect himself, but knew this was the end. He wouldn't be able to stop this. He was already losing consciousness…

There was an explosion and the whole wall was blown inward. Star manifested just enough to protect Jotaro.

Light burst through the room, sunlight, and Dio shrieked and staggered to the side, part of his arm already disintegrating and falling away.

"What?" he screamed in disbelief.

"Dio!"

Jotaro looked up and saw his grandfather and Kakyoin standing silhouetted in the light.

Dio screeched furiously as Joseph stepped forward with a huge light, shining it toward the vampire. Dio didn't seem to like it very much and retreated.

"I'll be back for you!" he snarled. "After the sun goes down, you'll all die!"

Kakyoin was already crouching beside Jotaro, looking horrified.

"JoJo! Can you get up?"

Jotaro only grunted and as soon as Dio seemed to have retreated, Joseph rushed back over, collapsing next to Jotaro with a stricken look.

"Jotaro! How badly are you hurt?"

"It looks bad," Kakyoin supplied, eyes flicking over Jotaro's body. "We need to get him out of here."

Jotaro wanted to walk out by himself, but that apparently wasn't in the plans, because as soon as they started to get him upright, unconsciousness finally caught up to him and he collapsed into the darkness.

XXX

He didn't know how much later it was when he woke again, but he was in a bed, covered in multiple bandages. His body hurt a lot less than it had, but it was still bad.

"JoJo?"

He looked up and saw JiJi sitting beside him, watching him anxiously. He felt terrible. He'd screwed up their assault on Dio and now they wouldn't have the advantage of surprise. Dio would be expecting them and there was even less of a chance of them defeating him than before.

"'M sorry," he murmured.

Joseph's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

Jotaro swallowed hard and looked away. "Screwed up."

"Jotaro…" Joseph said softly, reaching out to gently stroke Jotaro's hair from his forehead. "It wasn't your fault. We weren't getting anywhere. Now we know more about Dio and what he can do. We just have to regroup."

"How the hell am I supposed to fight like this?" Jotaro croaked.

"I've been pushing Hamon through your body to heal you quicker since we got here," Joseph told him. "But I promise you that we will go back there, defeat Dio, and save your mother. Believe me. I know how hard it can be to stare the impossible in the face, but I've done it before and we'll do it again, together."

Jotaro closed his eyes briefly but finally steadied himself again. He nodded.

Joseph smiled and patted his shoulder gently. "Rest until then."

Jotaro had little choice in the matter as his eyes were already sliding shut. He didn't know what would come when he woke up again, but he was determined that he would save his mother if it was the last thing he did.

Notes:

The final JJBA post (going up Sunday) is going to be posted separately because it will be a full one-shot as the finale of Whumptober so keep an eye out for that ^_^

Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/ left kudos etc. It always means so much to me to read your comments and I'm glad you've enjoyed these stories this month <3 I have another multi-chapter angst fic coming next month as well so stay tuned.

Notes:

Come visit me on Tumblr and Instagram! I love to chat fandom and writing (especially whump XD)
Tumblr: @lady-wallace
Instagram: @ladyofinkandpaper

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Whumptober 2021