Storms Of The Past

The car's engine hummed steadily beneath them, the rhythmic sound almost hypnotic as the city slipped past in a blur. But John wasn't paying attention to the streets anymore. His mind was racing. Weather Report.

He glanced out the window, watching as the first light drops of rain began to dot the glass, an eerie stillness settling over him. The power was still fresh, buzzing beneath his skin, but it felt... different from Tusk. Not just stronger, but unpredictable. Like it wasn't entirely in his control yet, and that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

"What the hell is this?" John muttered to himself, his fingers tapping on the edge of the seat.

Speedwagon, sitting next to him, noticed the way John was fidgeting, his eyes flicking over to the window. The older man shot a quick glance at John, confusion flickering in his gaze. "Something on your mind, JoJo?"

John didn't respond right away. He was too busy trying to make sense of the rush of thoughts pounding through his head. Two stands. A second power he hadn't asked for, but now had no choice but to use.

The first Stand, Tusk, made sense. He had the Spin, the power to manipulate the flow of energy and fire projectiles, control the battlefield with precision. That was clear. But Weather Report? What was it? What the hell was it supposed to do?

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady himself. Think, John. Think.

The rain outside increased in intensity, the droplets growing heavier against the windshield. Was that his doing? Was he controlling it?

No... no, it's not like that, he thought, running his hand over his face. The power wasn't direct. He didn't need to aim it like Tusk, or charge it up with the Spin. This felt... broader. More atmospheric. Like he was touching the air itself, the pressure, the moisture. But how could he use that?

And then, suddenly, memories started to flood his mind—memories not of his life, but of someone else. The original Weather Report. He remembered how the Stand used its abilities with insane precision. How it didn't just manipulate the weather at random, but could control it with exact accuracy.

Miniature climates, he recalled. The original Weather Report could create localized weather systems, making it rain in one spot, while the sun shone brightly just a few meters away. It wasn't just about manipulating the air and water—it was about controlling entire environments, like he could bend nature itself to his will.

The range... That was the truly terrifying part. The original Weather Report had a range of up to 30 kilometers. It wasn't just something that could affect a small area around him. He could change the weather in an entire city, potentially even beyond.

He shuddered at the thought. Could I do that too? He barely understood the full extent of his power, but the memories of its vast control were vivid in his mind. The original Weather Report could turn the weather on a dime—creating fierce winds that could cut down anyone in its path, shifting the temperature, or even making it snow in the middle of summer. The thought of wielding that power was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And it didn't stop there. Flying—the original Weather Report had used air currents to soar through the skies. A powerful gust could carry him over long distances, pushing the air beneath his feet to keep him aloft. If John could learn to use that, he could move faster, evade enemies, or gain the perfect vantage point.

Then there was the manipulation of water. The original Weather Report could control the water created from the weather manipulation, like rain or clouds. Filling someone with water, he thought with a shiver. The original Weather Report could use clouds to suffocate an enemy, filling their lungs until they burst, or obscure their vision until they were trapped in a thick, choking fog. The possibilities seemed endless.

Could I do all that? he wondered, feeling a chill run down his spine. The power felt so vast, but at the same time, so alien. He hadn't even fully tapped into it yet, and already, he was seeing the potential.

He let out a breath, focusing again. First things first. Control.

He needed to figure out how to use it, how to shape the weather into something he could wield with precision, not just let it run wild.

His thoughts flicked back to the first time he'd used Tusk. How it had felt awkward at first, like he wasn't in full control of the Stand's power. He'd had to test it, push it, get a feel for it. And even now, Tusk was still unpredictable in its own way. But this new power—Weather Report—felt... different. Almost like it wanted to be used. It was just waiting for him to figure it out.

His eyes narrowed as he thought back to Hell's Kitchen, the fights he'd been in. He could've used Weather Report to his advantage there. The weather could have been his weapon, the atmosphere his shield. He could've shifted the wind to throw off his enemies, block their shots with rain, or use the heat to wear them down.

But can I control it like that? His thoughts scrambled again, unable to focus. How do I even begin to master this?

He glanced at Speedwagon, but the man was too preoccupied with the car's oddities to notice John's internal struggle. The way the air seemed to shift inside the vehicle, the strange sense that something was off—it wasn't just the rain outside. It was something else, something he couldn't put into words.

John couldn't figure out whether it was the Stand's power at work or just his own mind playing tricks on him.

Focus. Don't overthink it. You've got to learn this fast, before you get caught off guard again.

He thought back to the criminals in Hell's Kitchen, the ones he'd already taken down. With Weather Report, he could do more. Far more. He wouldn't just be throwing punches or relying on his bullets. He could change the entire environment of a fight, leave his enemies completely off-balance, unable to predict the battlefield.

He needed to learn how to control it, how to use it.

As they neared the penthouse, Speedwagon's voice cut through his thoughts. "You okay, kid? You've been quiet."

John looked at him, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he shook his head. "Yeah, just... processing."

Speedwagon seemed to sense that something was off, but he didn't press further. Instead, he gave a small nod, his attention turning to the approaching building. "We're almost there."

John's gaze hardened as the penthouse came into view. This power—Weather Report—would give him an edge, no doubt. But he needed to understand it, to master it, before it could be used properly. He wasn't sure how long that would take, but there was no time to waste.

His fingers curled into fists as the car rolled to a stop.

"Let's see how much I can control this storm," John muttered under his breath, the weight of his new power heavy in his chest.

John's fingers tapped lightly on his knee as the thoughts circled in his head. He had more power than ever before, but control would be everything. Weather Report's power was immense. He wasn't sure he could fully comprehend it yet. Maybe with time, maybe with more training…

Speedwagon's voice broke the silence.

"Here we are," he said, pulling into the private garage beneath the Foundation headquarters. The car slid to a stop, and the engine quieted as John snapped out of his trance.

They stepped out into the cool night air. The city stretched out before them, the skyline twinkling in the distance. A feeling of weight settled on John's chest. He hadn't seen his parents since the hospital visit, not properly, not since his sister's death.

Speedwagon gave him a brief nod, as if to say, take your time. He didn't move to follow John immediately, understanding the moment's significance.

John paused before the door to his family's penthouse, his gaze lingering on the skyline. There was a strange, unsettling calm in the air, as if the city itself was holding its breath. Then he pushed the door open.

Inside, the penthouse was still and quiet. It had been a long day, a long couple of days, really. John had never imagined his life would spiral like this—the world of heroes and villains, the Stand powers, the Speedwagon Foundation.

His eyes landed on the familiar figures seated at the table: Joseph Joestar, his father, leaning heavily on a cane, his face weary but still sharp; and Suzie, his mother, her eyes kind but with a weight of concern etched on her face.

They both looked up as John stepped inside.

Joseph's face softened. "John..." His voice was hoarse, but his usual smirk was there, barely hidden beneath the fatigue. "Took you long enough."

"What's with the cane, old man? Got arthritis?"

"Don't worry, I can still beat your ass..... JoJo." Joseph smirked.

John blinked. "Fury spread that name to the news already? Damn, he's fast."

Suzie rose from her chair, and rushed to him, hugging him until his bones started to creak. "John, honey, are you alright?" Her gaze flickered to his leg, still in the cast, before meeting his eyes. She was trying to hide the worry, but it was clear in the tremble of her voice.

John managed to separate from her with great difficulty, his movements still stiff from the pain in his leg. He didn't know how to answer her. "I'm fine, mom." he said, the words feeling too empty to be true.

He paused in front of them, meeting his father's eyes. Joseph didn't speak immediately, but there was something in his look—a silent acknowledgment of the storm swirling inside John. Something had changed. Joseph knew it, but he didn't press for answers.

"How's the leg?" Joseph finally asked, his tone casual but with an edge of concern.

"Better," John replied shortly. "I'll be back in shape in no time."

Suzie's hands tightened around her dress, but she gave a small smile. "Well, it's good to have you back, John. I don't know what we would've done without you."

John's eyes shifted downward, his gaze distant for a moment as his mind flashed to his sister—gone, taken by a Monster he hadn't been able to stop. He clenched his fists but said nothing. The ache in his chest was still raw, and the pain of losing Holly would never fade. He had to focus, had to push forward.

"It's good to be back," John said, his voice quieter now. He glanced at Speedwagon, who stood silently by the door, then looked back at his parents. "I've... been thinking about things. About how I can protect people. How I can make sure something like what happened in Harlem doesn't happen again."

Joseph raised an eyebrow, but his expression softened. "We all have our demons, John. But remember, you can't fight everything alone, well... unless you're me." Joseph said with full belief in his Hamon's ability to kick ass.

"Piss off," John said. "But yeah, I'm not letting anyone else get hurt. Not if I can help it."

There was a long silence before Joseph spoke again, his voice low but firm.

"Good. Just don't forget that you have family. You don't have to carry the weight of the world by yourself."

John's gaze shifted to the cityscape outside the windows, his thoughts clouded with the echoes of his past life and the power he was still trying to master.

But for the first time in a while, something felt... right. The storm inside him had settled, even if just for a moment.

Maybe this was what it meant to be human after all. To have something worth protecting.

And he would do whatever it took to ensure that no one, not even the people he loved, would fall prey to the monsters of this world.