Chapter Eight: The Burden

From Shadows had no clue where exactly Jaune was.

This was to be expected, as not only did Blake have no clue which apartment was Junior's, but From Shadow's had been resting within her while she was taking her well over hour-long shower. So, of course, it couldn't just gun it toward him.

Of course, From Shadow's wasn't stupid, either.

It was methodical in its movements, traveling as a shadow along the floor into each apartment, entering the bathroom as a way to search for Jaune more efficiently. It sped to the halfway point of the building, searching only the half with the separate water heater according to Rogue.

From Shadow's may not have been as strong as September, or as fast as Song Bird.

But a stand that could think had the potential to be far, far more terrifying.

…

Jaune had just gotten out of the shower when he saw From Shadow's burst in.

He yelped, face burning as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. "Blake! Or, From Shadows—whichever you are—what are you doing here?"

From Shadows grabbed his arm, gesturing to the door. It then moved back, flattening itself into a shadow on the wall.

Jaune watched with wide eyes as the stand changed its shape, shifting into the shadow of a little girl.

"Rogue?"

The shadow fell on the ground.

Jaune's eyes widened as he realized. "Oh no."

He had September grab his clothes as he burst out of the bathroom—dashing into the living room. His eyes flicked to Junior, who was currently leaning against the island with a cup of coffee in hand.

The older man's brow furrowed. "What're—"

"THANKSFORTHESHOWERIGOTTAGO—WE'LLTALKLATER!"

Jaune bolted past, leaving Junior staring at his open apartment door.

Jaune's heart raced as he dashed down the hallway, heels thudding against the wooden floor as his mind conjured countless scenarios—each worse than the last as he imagined her fate. Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive!

He slammed through his front door, nearly knocking the old thing off its hinges.

"ROGUE!"

From Shadow's dashed past, pointing at the bedroom.

Jaune dashed in, skidding to a halt at the door.

His eyes immediately found Blake, her hair and body wrapped in a towel as she cradled Rogue's head in her lap. In a normal situation, he might've been embarrassed about walking in on her like this—especially since he was only clad in a towel.

Though, now he was a bit too focused on Rogue. The poor girl's face was as pale as new-fallen snow, her hands twitching as she desperately tried to raise them from the carpet. Her eyes were closed, face scrunched up in pain as sweat trailed down her face.

He crouched, dropping his clothes outside as September helped him hoist her in his arms. She felt heavy—far heavier than he knew she was. Her legs dragged against his arm like dumbbells as he dashed to the bathroom, shoulder-charging the door down and setting her on the rug.

He nearly tore off her pajamas, flipping her onto her stomach. "Rogue, sweetie, it's going to be okay! I'm here—you're going to be fine!"

He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

September's hands were superimposed over his as he began trailing them over her back, focusing as he imbued strength, durability, healing—every positive thing he could think of into her. He felt every bump, every scar, every little imperfection as he did his best to help her. Did his best to keep her alive.

He didn't notice—or, if he did, he didn't care—that Blake was staring over his shoulder.

To Blake, it was more confusing than anything else. She saw Jaune's stand slowly healing Rogue, her face returning to normal and her sweat at last ceasing. Though, she could understand that.

What she didn't understand was Rogue's back.

Beneath Jaune and September's frantic hands, Blake saw very clearly what was causing Rogue so much pain: Scars. There were dozens of them—perhaps more than even she had before Jaune's cooking had healed some of them. Many looked to be burn wounds, places where her skin was cracked and blistered and had never fully healed. Some looked to be small cuts, likely made by falling onto something.

Those she could explain.

She couldn't explain what covered most of her back.

From her shoulder blades to her waist, Rogue had two large, wing-shaped bruises. They were a deep purple—like they were nowhere near new. They seemed incredibly detailed, as though a massive press with the pattern were slammed onto her and held there for hours at a time, compressing her tiny body in the process.

As Jaune healed it, the bruise slowly disappeared—going from purple to blue, to yellow, until eventually vanishing altogether. The only hint it was there at all were Jaune's frantic movements in the same area. To Blake, it seemed as if he either didn't realize the bruise was completely gone, or was trying his damnedest to ensure it didn't come back.

In all, it was maybe five minutes before Jaune finally sat back, panting as September retreated into him, its energy spent. He stared at Rogue, eyes wide and still somewhat fearful. "Sweetie? Are you okay?"

Rogue groaned, pressing her hands into the ground as she slowly sat up. She looked to her father, eyes just as frightened as his. "It felt worse this time…a lot worse."

Jaune pulled her close, his right hand cradling her head as his other wrapped around her waist. "It's okay, sweetpea. I'm right here. You're okay, you're safe…you're safe."

Blake could tell Jaune wasn't saying it for Rogue.

Rogue hugged him back, smiling into his chest as her arms wrapped around him—fingertips just barely touching behind his torso. "Of course I am. I have you!"

Rogue didn't see the smile leave Jaune's face.

It was back a moment later as he pulled Rogue away from his chest, swiping back her hair and planting a kiss on her forehead. "How about you go get your clothes for today? Give me a bit to fix your pajamas."

He gestured to the torn remnants of her PJ's on the ground.

Rogue nodded, standing and casually walking past Blake and into her bedroom—as if she hadn't had a near-death experience a few seconds ago.

Jaune looked over to Blake, standing up before holding up his right hand. "I know you must have questions, but—"

"They can wait."

Jaune's brow furrowed. "Huh…I uh—honestly I thought you'd put up more of a fight than that."

Blake looked away, her face tinting red. "I'd rather not discuss what just happened when I'm in just two towels and you're completely naked."

Jaune raised an eyebrow.

Then he looked down.

He yelped, September shooting out and grabbing his towel as his face went bright red. He gave a nervous chuckle, gripping tight to his towel. "Got it! You can borrow some of my clothes for now—we'll worry about the twins later!"

"Got it."

Blake walked to the bedroom, Jaune grabbing his clothes from the hall as both went to get dressed.

…

Stand Name: September

Stand User: Jaune Arc

Stats:

Power: A

Speed: A

Range: C

Persistence: A

Precision: B

Potential: A

…

When Jaune walked out, Blake was sitting on the couch, staring at him.

He was clad in a simple pair of khakis and a white t-shirt, whereas Blake was clad in the clothes Rogue had picked out for her. Her eyes flicked over his face as he walked over, sitting on the opposite side of the couch—Rogue's torn-up pajamas in his hands.

"Explain. Now."

"Rogue's stand was—and still is—trying to kill her."

Blake blinked a few times, staring at Jaune for a moment before his words finally sunk in. "I…wait, what? How is that even possible?"

Jaune sighed, pulling himself back against the edge of the couch and sitting cross-legged. "You didn't get your stand until you were older, right?"

Blake's eyes widened. "How did you—"

"Neither did Neo. She got hers six months ago."

Jaune gave a faint smile at Blake's confused expression, staring at the ceiling. "I'm not entirely sure how it works—but some people have the stand in them and don't know it. It's there in their mind, but they don't know how to use it the way a born stand user does. They need something to push them to unlock it. For Neo it was being kidnapped. Guessing it was something traumatic for you too, right?"

Blake nodded. "I'd rather…not discuss it."

Jaune nodded, running a hand back over his hair before summoning September. "Fair enough. Anyway, my mom always told me that stands were manifestations of our fighting spirit. Our will to push forward when things get tough. It takes someone with a strong will to use a stand effectively—or at all, really."

He looked back at Rogue's bedroom, September trailing its hands along the tears in Rogue's pajamas and slowly repairing them. "Rogue is…well, she doesn't have that. She's sweet, she's kind, she's gentle—she wouldn't hurt a fly. Heck, she accidentally stepped on a ladybug and cried until I healed it."

The two shared a small laugh at that, only for the smile to slip from Jaune's face a moment later. "I don't understand it—not fully, anyway. I've never met someone else who had their stand react the way Rogue's does. As far as I can tell, her stand wants to manifest the way September or From Shadows do, but Rogue's will isn't strong enough. So when it tries to manifest—"

"—it starts hurting her."

Jaune nodded, frowning as September finished repairing the pajamas. "It's why I still bathe her. Every day I imbue her body with durability and strength—enough she can ignore the pressure her stand puts on her. Heck, she could get hit by a bus and it'd probably do more damage to the bus than her."

Blake nodded a few times, staring at the door. "She said it hurt worse than last time…does that mean her stand's getting stronger?"

Jaune slowly nodded.

"Doesn't that mean eventually…"

Jaune looked down, gripping his hands together. "Why do you think I started Curative Cuisine? It wasn't just because I love cooking—it was so I could get more practice with September. To strengthen my stand power. I have to get stronger so I can keep up with Rogue's stand. Otherwise…"

Blake placed a hand on Jaune's shoulder, giving a sympathetic gaze.

Jaune sighed, turning around and facing the TV ahead of him. "I try not to dwell on it too much. As long as I can help Rogue, it'll be enough…"

He looked back at Blake. "Wait, is that my old hoodie?"

Blake looked away, face tinting pink. "You're not getting it back until I have my own clothes."

Jaune shook his head, a faint smile on his face as he looked her over. "Nah, you can keep it. You look better in that old thing than I do."

Blake's blush depended as she looked away, burying her face in the hoodie's large collar.

The two were silent for a bit, Jaune turning to the TV and absently turning it on. His expression didn't change as he saw the news covering what had happened at The Winchester, showing images of a still-under-investigation building. He was only half listening, leaning back and zoning out as he watched.

"—news of Egat Winchester's strange passing have police—"

He shot upright, turning up the volume.

The TV showed a mugshot of Egat Winchester—his face beaten and bruised from the dual thrashing he and Blake had given him. A young woman with light lavender hair stood next to it, clad in a dark-brown suit with a lavender tie. She was silent for a moment, as news anchors often were after switching camera angles, before beginning to speak.

"Egat Winchester—the owner of one of Vale's most popular restaurants and the suspected runner of a large pickpocketing ring—was found dead this morning in his hospital bed. While it is currently unknown how he died, hospital staff claim he appeared increasingly frantic when they last saw him. Police chief Holly Blue has denied comment to VNN at this time."

Jaune shut off the TV, the two stand-users turning to look at one another. For a beat they were silent, their minds arriving at the same conclusion.

Six knocks on the door snapped them out of it.

Blake had From Shadows out in seconds, its eyes giant orbs as it reared back.

Jaune held up his hand, shaking his head. "It's just the twins—that's how Miltia always knocks."

He walked to the door, pulling it open to reveal the two standing there. In Miltia arms were several different blouses, bras, panties, skirts, jeans—and other various clothing items. Melanie was simply standing there, still toying with her pen as she leaned against the doorway.

Miltia looked between the two. "What's got you two so spooked?"

"Egat's dead."