@SAMUEL T. OWEN
He was considered a selfish person. People had told him all the time that he was a coward that only really cared for himself before his fight with the Pillar Men. Other students had known him as the jolly jokester who everyone liked, but no one could get too close to. After all, he was from the famous and prestigious Joestar family line, a family that had roots with the mighty Speedwagon Foundation. He was a child who grew up with a silver spoon up his ass.
It was the hand he had been dealt, and he had only realized how good
he had had it later, when he lost friends and part of his peace of mind to an evil that was adamant about taking over the world. Joseph now always wondered, why the hell
had he been the one who had been spared?
Cowardly. Selfish. Run and scheme and run some more. Win the fights by dancing around them. You have no honor.
But some people didn't realize that he did have compassion. The first time he had come across bullies roughing up a younger student in grade school, he had intended to walk away. He couldn't get into fights, especially not with the clothes that Granny Erina had just bought him. But before he turned the corner, he felt his fists clench and his teeth grit. The poor kid was sobbing. It hadn't sat well with him at all in the end to just walk away.
You see, he didn't like fighting because he was selfish, and he was all about survival, so he always came up with some ridiculous plan to win his fights. He had thrown himself out there in the end, grabbing a nearby water bucket and hurling it at the guy closest to the victim. The others had been stunned long enough for him to grab the boy who had been crouched down, picking him clean up off the ground and taking off. He had hidden him behind the bushes, winking before running out into the fields for the bullies to chase.
Granny Erina and Speedwagon both hadn't been amused by the school's headmaster giving them a call about finding Joseph in the midst of a brawl. It was the first time he had ended up battered, bruised, and hurting. He hated the feeling. Would he have done differently next time? Of course. He would find a way to make better use of his surroundings, not just that bucket.
This situation kind of reminded him of that first time. He really hadn't thought things through, had he? No matter. The best he could do was nurse his wounds. But...these wounds were beyond his healing.
Hamon had healing properties, but he was sure one of the blows with the crowbars had cracked a rib. His head still spun from the concussion he had gotten from the bat, so he wasn't thinking straight enough to tell. He couldn't control his breathing to create Hamon due to the pain of his lungs pressing against cracked bones. He had no way of soothing his own pain.
They dragged him, one man each hauling one of his arms over their shoulders. One of them was complaining how he was so heavy as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And then they suddenly dumped him down onto the cool, smooth concrete of some garage. Joseph all but faceplanted, letting out a soft and agonized groan as he slowly tried to roll off of his heavily injured side onto his back.
On of the men grabbed him roughly by the wrist, yanking him across the ground. Joseph put up little to know resistance. He was exhausted, and he needed his strength if he was going to formulate a plan. He felt something tighten uncomfortably around his wrists, and he blinked the haze out of his eyes, noting the zipties that now latched him to the piping stuck on the wall.
He didn't respond to the taunts of the men as they nudged him with their feet. He just pretended he had passed out. The men left, still grumbling, as Joseph carved each and every one of their words into his mind. How dare they. He was going to ruin them the moment he got the chance. For now he would just...rest.