Stand Proud || Stardust Crusaders/Conqueror of Shamballa

Part One: Jotaro

[Key]: Was it any wonder that he snapped at the others? He was far from home. He missed his mother. He wanted to be back to school. He'd take going back to his somewhat mundane life over this hell any day. If he woke up one morning to discover that this was just a dream he had while napping in that cell, well he'd be /just fine/ with that. And the route they had taken was stupid. They could've gone along the coast but instead they shortcut through a whole continent. That wasn't even mentioning all the attacks the group of five had sustained up until that point. (Actually, no, come to think of it, maybe cutting through Europe was a good idea. Dio wouldn't be tracking those movements because he counted on them blipping along the coast.)
At least his jiji had recognized the specific kind of stress that he was under, the specific kind of input overload stress that caused him to shout at them all during dinner one night, after which he promptly stormed off to sit alone for a while. It helped some at the time. What helped even more was overhearing his jiji advise that they give him a few days alone to himself. Plus a break would be good for all of them. The others would have time to relax themselves and plan their next moves more carefully. And that was perfect, that was what he needed.
So there Jotaro Kujo stood, lingering outside some shop (a bakery by the look of it, he wasn't paying attention), the late afternoon peace and quiet doing wonders for him. Around him he felt Star Platinum's arms, keeping him secure, providing a comforting touch that wasn't human and overly-stimulating. He knew by now that the Stand was basically just an offcut of himself, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a damn.

[Key]: It helped, it soothed, it provided the right amount of stimulation. So if it was just him showing himself some love, so be it. There was just the right amount of weight keeping him grounded and calm, plus the ghostly aura that Star Platinum had was slightly cold and it aided to temporarily wash away the memories of dry sand and scorching sun. Good. /Good./
He pulled the lit cigarette from between his lips, tilted his head back, and let the smoke filter out into the air.
Good.
/Good./

[Bee]: It's just a little cold, that's all. Don't worry.
How many times has he found himself uttering this sentiment? Twice more just today at work with the rocket team. He had actually believed it himself the first few times he said it—but the cough attacks were getting worse. Longer, more painful, more fatiguing. Occasionally there was blood. And now, he was waiting on test results from his doctor, who instructed him to hold onto hope, but not too much. His chances weren't great, really, and depending on this outcome, could quickly become much worse. Alfons was still reeling from that appointment a few days prior.
These sorts of thoughts were weighing heavily on his mind today, as he walked through town to his favorite bakery (conveniently the one a certain broody Stand user stood in front of). Hands in his pockets, his eyes pointed down at the sidewalk but unfocused, not really paying attention to the world around him, his brow furrowed. Stress, worry, and a slow building fatigue were etched plainly on his face. He walked slowly, guided by autopilot on his typical shopping route. He had hopes that some good comfort food would help to quell the small but ever present anxiety settled in his gut, making him feel even sicker than he was.
He was, in fact, so preoccupied in his troubled thoughts that he hardly glanced up as he made to cross the street in front of the bakery. So even when he absently heard the sound of a car motor rapidly rushing towards him, he only finally whipped his head up at the jarring screech of braking tires no more than a few meters away, seeing the vehicle still hurdling towards him. He had only time enough to startle and gasp in sudden terror, none to think or get out of the way.

[Key]: It seems they're both stuck in their minds, huh? Jotaro's thoughts weren't centered on his lungs (it should be though, considering the cigarette he was so adamantly puffing on) but instead it was focused on the last Stand fight before they cut across Europe. Enyaba's Justice hadn't been kind to them, especially not Polnareff. He couldn't get the way those corpses moved out of his head, seeing them up and animated as if they were still alive even as they were rotting...eugh. Another mental scar to the growing list that he was racking up.
/Fuck./
He put the cigarette back between his lips and took another inhale. The burning of the smoke filling his lungs was good. It was a good that it burned. It was good that he wasn't used to it and probably wouldn't ever be. It hurt, he felt pain, it meant he was alive. In a way, smoking was reminding him he was alive. And the longer he was alive, the more he could look forward to taking down Dio. He couldn't defeat that evil, vampiric fuck if he was dead. And then after Dio was dead, he could return home to his mother and school and he and Kakyoin would finish their classes and graduate and that would be the end of it. Smoking was good. Pain was good. He hurt because he was alive and because he was al-
Star Platinum let go of him and interrupted his cynical hellstorm of thoughts. Jotaro didn't command his Stand to do that so this came as a surprise to him. He tried to look up to see what Star Platinum was doing but was too slow to follow the movements.
In the time it had taken for the User to look up, Star Platinum had moved across the street, snagged Alfons by the arm (/gently/), and yanked him back towards the sidewalk.