Tragedy/Horror?
Warnings:
Part 3 Spoilers
Blood/Gore
3rd Person POV
Noriaki Kakyoin is dead. We are transporting his body via helicopter.
Needless to say, Jotaro was still in shock. Kakyoin's death had hardly even registered with him—he was too focused on trying to save who he still could save.
Joseph's antics didn't help the situation much.
But Jotaro finally allowed his tense frame to loosen up just slightly once he was sure Joseph wasn't DIO back for round two. God, what a fucking dick.
He looked out the window at the street, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Stop the car!" Jotaro shouted.
"Huh? What's going on?" Joseph asked.
"Shut up, old man! Just stop the car! Stop!" Jotaro barked, and the driver pulled over, looking back at him in confusion. Jotaro didn't even take the time to explain, just throwing the door open and running out without hesitation. He didn't run for much. Before the trip, he couldn't give two shits if he was late to class, or anything else, really. But here he was, running as fast as his legs could take him toward that distinct mess of red hair and pale skin, contrasting starkly against the night-darkened surroundings and his clothes. He watched Kakyoin start to run as well, and it was safe to say he was beyond confused. Noriaki Kakyoin is dead. Noriaki Kakyoin is currently running down the street in front of him. What the hell is this? Some kind of sick joke someone's playing on him?
Kakyoin took a few turns, and Jotaro found himself growing tired. Why was he making him chase him? What was he running from?
Finally, the redhead came to a stop in an alley. It wasn't too dark thanks to the streetlight nearby.
Jotaro stopped right at the entrance, panting. Kakyoin was facing the other direction.
"Kakyoin—is that you?" Jotaro asked. There was a long pause. "Oi, answer me. I just chased you down the street, don't fucking ignore me."
"Jotaro...look...what you did..." Kakyoin turned around slowly, head down and eyes glued to his abdomen. His hands were pressed to his stomach, blood pouring out around them and dripping onto the concrete. Jotaro's eyes widened—he was fairly certain that if he let go, his guts would fall out, and it made him want to hurl. Kakyoin slowly raised his head to look Jotaro in the eyes, who in turn raised his gaze from the huge wound inside Kakyoin. He watched the shorter boy cough and choke on his own blood, starting a violent fit that racked his body and made his knees give out.
"Oh...no, no, I'll get help. I'll get help, The Speedwagon Foundation can help." Jotaro's voice cracked, eyes darting between the pool of blood forming beneath Kakyoin and his face. He hadn't expressed panic in front of someone else like this in years—his expression always remained cool and stoic, and now here he was, fear written all over his face.
"No...you won't get help, Jotaro. No one can help. You let DIO take everything from me...for you. Only...seventeen." Kakyoin took a break from speaking to splutter up more sticky red liquid. "I never got to live...my life."
"I-I know, Kakyoin, it's okay, I won't let you die."
"You already did, Jojo, don't you remember? You left me to die. All...alone," Kakyoin accused bitterly.
