JJBA drabbles

Savior

         It was finally over, and despite how much Jotaro missed it, he has never felt a greater relief in his life. The bindings of fate had seemed to finally let its tight grip go in his chest, his head, his heart, and his friends. He felt in control again. It wasn't necessarily a comforting feeling. He rather liked having a goal, being directed and feeling useful for a change. But he could find a calm in how his sore, overused muscles finally got a chance to relax after months of burden, strain, and injury.

      He stood up and stretched, trying to limit his movement, but flashes of red-hot pain still sent tremors through his exhausted body. He winced, eyes shutting as he tried to fight off black and white spots darting across his vision. He was still injured from the fight. He needs to recognize that, he tells himself, but a part of him doesn't want it to end. A part of it wants the pain to keep going, the pain to keep lasting as he gets hurt repeatedly, but it's to be useful. To, to-- no.

     Those are selfish thoughts. Selfish thoughts he shouldn't be having when his dearest friends were recovering. Immense disgust with himself settled into his stomach, making him feel sick. How could he wish for more brutality when his dearest friends were recovering from lifetime wounds? Avdol lost both of his arms, for God's sake! And Noriaki, oh, Noriaki. How could that have happened to him? How could some fucked up part of Jotaro wish to be hurt more when his best friend was barely recovering from his wounds? When he would have chronic pain for the rest of his life, rarely finding the strength to walk again? He felt so tired. 

        Jotaro felt a dull pain start to grow at the back of his throat as he tried so hard to choke back the tears already starting to form at the corners of his eyes and trail down his still battle-worn cheeks. He felt his knees go weak and he sat back down. He wanted to fight. He wanted to have purpose again. He wanted to feel good about himself. He wanted--

        "Jotaro?" A careful hand interrupted him from his tumultuous thoughts, slightly calloused but gentle in pressure. The guilt he felt in response worsened his already upset stomach. Kakyoin was just as, if not infinitely more tired than he was. He was due for another surgery in a couple of weeks, and the possibility of dying was still there. Still, after they should be safe. Things were a lot less complicated in battle. There are some things you can't punch away in this world.

          As he tried to open his eyes and it stung, he realized the painful observation that he was crying. He shouldn't be crying. "Nori--" he felt a sob overtake him as he crumbled in front of his friend, a rare experience as he got older. The feelings were still the same. More intense, more violent, more pain as his chest got tighter and tighter. More sobs. God, he was pathetic.

         Kakyoin offered him an understanding look as he gently moved his thumb downward, lightly pressing and massaging his palm and the base of the other boys thumb. As Jotaro cried, he felt a twinge of recognition that they all felt like this. Everybody on the crusade had scars, some more physical than others. For jotaro, his mental ones may be harder to recover from. But the feeling passed along with the moment of self-growth, and he was overcome once again by tears that felt like blood running down his face in egypt, and sobs that felt like the knife wounds in his chest were doubling.

         Noriaki grasp never broke away from his, that was all Jotaro could comprehend as grief and emotions he didn't fully grasp came crashing into him as heavy waves in a storm. A hand that could help him lead him through this. A hand that was still warm, despite everything. A hand that was willing to help him. A hand that was equally scared as he.

     It moved up to hold his cheek.

      Kakyoin may not be able to fix what had happened entirely, but he was certainly going to try, that stubborn bastard.  And Jotaro felt, for once since the crusade, that he would too.