Chapter 1.5 Stands

Anon limped up the stairs, wincing as he put his wounded leg on the first step. His battle with the Monstrous stand Please Don't Touch was over. Yet he knew that he wasn't done in this house, he still had business with Mr. Johnson. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say to his counselor once he got to his room but he'd worked it out. He had time, Mr. Johnson probably wouldn't wake up from his knuckle induced nap for a little bit.

Something instinctive deep within Anon's mind was fearful of what would happen if Mr. Johnson awoke and his stand attacked again. Anon's logical mind however was well aware of the ease he could beat Please Don't Touch if it attacked again. It's body may be coated with metal but its defenses were weak. It's only means of protecting itself was the fear that it spread, and now that Anon was aware of this it would never work on him again. He laughed at himself for being so afraid, taking the next step up the stairs as he did so.

It was still crushingly dark in the upstairs hallway but the thick miasma of dread had left the entire building. However what wasn't going to go away was the gore covering Mr. Johnson's bedroom. Anon hadn't forgotten about the mess, but still ended up gagging at the mere sight of it as he opened the door. The stench of the whole thing was what was really bothering. He could avoid stepping in it so he wouldn't have to feel it under foot. He could close his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at it. The one thing he couldn't do however was prevent that pungent smell of rot and death from going entering an burning the inside of his nostrils.

It was disgusting, the putrid smell of insides mingling with the burnt odor of the stained carpet. The last time Anon walked through this room he was too frightened to even inhale the scent, but now it was suffocating. He slowly tiptoed through the room, being careful not to step in any of the squishier spots of the carpet. He felt filthy just standing in their but he had no choice. He reached the corner of the room where Mr. Johnson sat, wrapped up in a pile of blankets. He was breathing (and snoring) deeply, drool dripping out of the corners of his mouth. He appeared so relaxed, his resting expression far removed from the one he wored when Anon had first entered the house. He looked to be in a deep sleep. Anon smiled, he had a brief worry that he didn't hold himself back enough and had killed the man, he was relieved to find out the contrary. Mr. Johnson looked rather peaceful, sleeping there without any worries. Anon sat down on the crimson bed and sighed. It was a nice contrast from how he normally was. Usually his counselor was a bundle of nerves walking around in the vague shape of a person. He was the kind of guy that was just plain stressful to be around. Not the kind of personality you would necessarily want as a counselor. Anon was not one to judge however, so he shoved those thoughts aside.

Mr. Johnson was starting to snore louder and louder. Anon leaned forward, figuring that now was the time to wake him before he got any louder. Anon had a headache and the last thing he wanted was to be forced to listen to deafening snores. He crouched down next to the sleeping counselor, grabbing his shoulders he shook him lightly.

"Yo, Mr. Johnson, get up."

He didn't wake, causing Anon to shake a bit harder. "Ay, Mr. Johnson. Mr. Johnson! Mr. Johnson!"

He was still asleep, and Anon was quickly staring to get more than a little frustrated. He pulled his hand back and smacked Mr. Johnson's cheek with his open palm. There was a weird catharsis to bitch slapping a member of school faculty, but it wasn't the time for Anon to dwell on that.

Mr. Johnson awoke with a start. He seemed dazed for more than a couple seconds, but as soon as he recognized the shape of Anon standing over him he stiffened. At once he yelped, threw up his hands as if to guard himself, and scooted back further into the corner. His back was pressed against the wall and he shivered uncontrollably.

"Anonas?! Wh-what? How? You're not dead? Where's Please Don't Touch, is it dead?" Mr. Johnson was firing off questions one after another, he didn't even stop to take a single breath. he was talking so quickly that it was surprising that he didn't pass out again. Anon didn't quite know which question to answer first, so he chose to just started with the obvious.

"No, I'm not dead, but I did get the shit kicked out of me…" he mumbled that last part, kind of embarrassed to admit it, he then cleared his throat, "and no, Please Don't Touch isn't dead, if I had killed it you'd be dead too."

That sent a shiver down Mr. Johnson's spine. It truly hit him how he would never be rid of that horrible thing.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed his fears, "Alright, but why are you still here? If you're alive then that means you must have escaped Please Don't Touch's Ability, so why did you come back"

"I didn't escape it, I beat it."

"you… beat it?"

"I punched it."

Mr. Johnson stared at Anon blankly.

"Like, really hard"

There was a brief pause after Anon finished. Mr. Johnson's confusion was over shadowing his fear at the moment and he had stopped shaking. He sat up straight and took a deep breath.

Anon smiled, it was good that Mr. Johnson was calming down. That would make it far easier to talk to him. Although he was sure if it came down to it he wouldn't have any problems defeating Please Don't Touch again, he didn't want to start a needles fight. He waited a few more moments, observing his counselors emotions to see if he really was on track to calming down. The last thing Anon wanted to do was knock the poor guy out again. Thankfully there were no signs of Mr. Johnson suddenly getting stressed and accidentally summoning his stand.

"Anyways, Mr. Johnson, there is a reason why I'm still here." he mulled over how he was going to phrase his next sentence without upsetting Mr. Johnson, "when I mentioned that I heard a voice, you freaked out. I know you heard it too. Not only that but you said that it was the voice who told you the name of your stand. Your ghost, as you put it."

Mr. Johnson glanced around the room and then slowly nodded

"yeah, it was that voice in my head that cursed me with Please Don't Touch…"

"And it was the same voice that gave me my Scar Tissue"

"Anon" Mr. Johnson hesitated for a moment before continuing, "what are you trying to get at?"

"What I'm trying to say is… if we have gained abilities like these, there must be others who heard the voice. I think, no I'm certain that there are more people who have gained stands."

The two stand users sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Every second that passed stretched to infinity as they thought about the implications of this revelation. Just one person unable to control their stand had already killed a man, as well as whatever was splattered across Mr. Johnson's bedroom. Anon shuddered to think of the chaos a psychopath could cause if they gained one of these powers. Mr. Johnson thought about the ramifications of the voice itself. Was it some kind of god? Or was it simply another stand user? Not only that, but was giving people stands the only thing it was capable of? Mr. Johnson didn't want to jump to that conclusion. He could remember the pain he felt in his head when the voice spoke. He could still feel that crushing weight emanating from his skull. It was obvious from the way Anon crumpled to the floor that he had felt the power of the voice too.

It wasn't that hard to imagine that pain killing a person.

"Mr. Johnson, that's not the only thing. I wanted to ask you to keep an eye out. I felt something on my way here. I felt a strange pull guiding me to your house, it was like fate guided me right towards you. I could feel that I was destined to be here. I was drawn here to you, and that's when I got my power. That was no accident." It was easy for Mr. Johnson to follow where Anon's thought process was leading.

"You're saying that fate led you here, because of your powers?"

"Yes. This is just a hunch, but if I was led to you because I was unlocking my stand… I think all stand users are like that. Maybe fate guides us to each other. Like I said it's just a hunch, and I'm often wrong, but I can't shake the feeling that I was drawn here because of our stands."

Anon stood after revealing his revelation. He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing or what was going to happen next. He could only imagine the trouble that he could get wrapped up in if his hunch was correct. A single stand battle had left him exhausted, bruises and cuts lining his body. He shuddered, thinking of what a stronger stand could do to him. He didn't understand exactly what stands were, but he already understood the danger that came with them. He had a sinking feeling that these stands, whatever they were, would lead to his death.

"Watch yourself, . I have a strong feeling in my gut that this won't be your only battle with a stand." with that Anon turned and left the gore splattered room.

He wasn't sure of how safe it was to ally himself with the volatile Mr. Johnson… but he didn't want to see him dead.

The steps leading downstairs seemed so inviting, offering Anon an escape from the anxiety filled house. He gently padded down the steps, being careful not to strain his gashed leg. The bleeding had stopped but it still hurt like hell. Every step caused the wound to feel like it was going to open up again, causing him to walk with a limp. Anon wasn't quite sure if it was safe to walk home in his battered condition, but there was no way he was going to get in a car with Mr. Johnson again. Being trapped in a small space with Please Don't Touch seemed like a surefire way to get himself killed.

Anon's hand reached out to turn the knob on the front door. Opening it, he could feel the sunlight on his face as it broke through the darkness of the house. He could finally breathe as he stepped out the door. The dread and worry filling the air in the cold grimy rooms didn't make it to the outside and for what felt like the first time in an eternity Anon felt clean. There were no birds on this particular strip of road, an indicator to the human mind that something was wrong… but Anon knew he was safe. The sun stung at his eyes and the cool air bit at his skin. He loved every single feeling that the outside world was giving him. The miasma in the house seemed like it had seeped into the fiber of being, filling him with the anxiety that Mr. Johnson was constantly emanating. Being outside however, the morning sun glowing brightly overhead and the wind blowing gently made Anon feel like he was being cleansed.

He outstretched his arms and took a deep breath. Soaking up his reality is what he needed right now. The fact of what was happening had just begun to fully hit him, but surviving that battle made Anon feel immortal. It was like he was truly alive now, like all of his luck in life was leading up to this singular moment of survival.

He plastered the biggest dumbest grin he could muster on his face, completely unaware of the eyes that were on him.