Chapter Text
Giorno came out of a dreamless sleep with the awareness of someone shaking him firmly. His aqua eyes opened, blurry; he rubbed at his face and mumbled, "What?" and tried to focus. It wasn't Mista or any of the others shaking him; it was the Requiem, with its round eyes wide and an urgent intensity in its grip.
"Wake up and get dressed. Now," it told him, in his own best 'do what I say' voice of command. "Quickly."
Giorno blinked once, and then looked at his Stand's unwavering eyes and decided to comply. He slung himself out of bed and went and pulled on yesterday's pants; left his sleeping shirt on because it was faster, and grabbed a hair tie, gathered his hair up to pull it back into a high, sloppy golden ponytail, if it was truly an urgent matter he couldn't dink around with styling just then anyway. "Mista?" He asked, compressing an entire sentence into one word.
The Stand glanced into the bed. "Not yet."
That both intrigued and confused Giorno; if his own Stand had come roaring out of nowhere in the middle of the night to wake him up and tell him to get dressed, something had to be damn urgent - but it wasn't dangerous enough to be worth pulling Mista up with him?
He turned back to the Stand, messily dressed but at least properly clothed, and frowned, waiting for the Stand to clarify. Gold Experience reached out and put its hand on Giorno's shoulder, steering him toward the door.
"Where are we going?"
"Outside. You don't want to be late."
"To what?"
"The miracle."
Giorno's pulse accelerated. He quickened his pace then, and the Stand kept time with him, its palm nudging at his shoulder, steering him where he was meant to go.
- - -
They came out of the villa into the back garden, under a strong bright moon that seemed unusually large and white. Giorno reached out through the Requiem for signs of life, for some hint of what was going on, and the Stand kept its hand firmly on his back.
"What-"
"Wait."
Giorno tried to. He bit his lip, impatience and demand warring with real curiosity. The shadows of the garden loomed tall under the light, and the only sounds he could hear were the low whispers of the trees and bushes shifting under the wind.
Then he saw the light. The light couldn't be described as anything but a flash of raw, shimmering silver iridescence that burst out, flowed from a central spot, opened... and it was accompanied by a sound that Giorno had heard so often, but for years only in dreams.
The sound of a loud, clear, vivid zipper with metal teeth.
Giorno stopped breathing. Gold Experience gave Giorno a slight push at his shoulder, and Giorno broke off running all at once - sprinting toward the sound, eyes opening wide, almost unaware of himself.
Two seconds later he collided with something in the shadows that stepped forward, a human shape, a body, a warm body that the moonlight defined and clarified.
And then he just screamed out, "oh my god oh my god oh my GOD," and threw his arms around it and felt it hugging him back, just as fiercely, just as solidly, just as real...
"Bucciarati," Giorno lifted his head and saw that face and those eyes and that sharp cut black hair, that Mona Lisa smile and he damn near burst into tears when it, the body, he, said his name right back, with such tenderness and grief.
"Giorno Giovanna."
Giorno dug his fingers into the white cloth of Bucciarati's suit and shivered from head to toe, unable to see clearly then for the tears. He felt an insane laughter bubbling within his chest, four years of pain all filtering away into hysterical joy. "How?" he demanded, his throat clotted with emotion all at once.
Bruno stroked Giorno's hair gently, disbelief in his touch, as if he too weren't sure he was handling something real, or feared that it might evaporate with the shift of the wind.
"A miracle," Bruno replied, and Giorno glanced up and saw a strange figure over Bruno's shoulder that he didn't recognize - it looked vaguely like Bruno's Stand, Sticky Fingers, but was altered and unfamiliar, with wide open blue eyes, a rearranged helmet, and different details. "The Requiem called to itself and answered itself. And, Giorno..." Bruno turned his head and smiled. Giorno became aware of other movements in the shadow. Stepping forward, Abbacchio emerged first, with his head tilted, a sarcastic smirk on his face and a hand on his hip; the golden A at his hip caught the light and flashed. Then, to Giorno's utter disbelief, Narancia on Bruno's other side, grinning like a wolf, and the low roaring sound of Aerosmith bursting forward and spiraling up high into the sky over the garden.
Giorno broke down and reached an arm away from Bruno toward Narancia and was met with a low sob from the other boy before he also cuddled in close. Then there were just tears, sweet, long-withheld tears, the three of them pressing close and emitting quiet, broken sounds, while Abbacchio floated just at the edge, on Bruno's left, sliding an arm around Bruno's back and even deigning to touch Giorno, leaving a strong hand on his shoulder and squeezing.
"Mista, I have to..." Giorno managed after a few minutes, with his face wet. He twisted his head to shoot Gold Experience a look over his shoulder. "Go get Mista," he commanded, hoarsely, and the Stand slid back and dissipated.
"You have to tell me everything," he demanded of the others then. "Everything."
- - -
After Mista stumbled out, half-asleep in a bathrobe and boxers, he too had his chance to cry, to greet his comrades, and to wonder at them. They staggered through the garden and back into Giorno's villa, barely willing to let go of each other which proved slightly awkward on the logistics for movement, and tumbled into a ground-floor parlor that Giorno used for entertaining. There, in the warm incandescent lights, they all got a good look at each other. There were scars on Bruno, Narancia and Abbacchio that were old and roughly healed, which spoke of terrible battles; Giorno had matured into his power and bore the weight of his invisible crown with level dignity, while Mista had turned leaner and a little meaner, a little more focused and apt by the constant presence of Giorno.
"You said the Requiem called to itself," Giorno began after a little while, when they all calmed down and got their breath back, over boxes of tissues and cups of Giorno's extraordinary black coffee service. Mista and Narancia and Abbacchio all draped themselves around Bruno and Giorno sat on the floor before them, legs pulled up into a lotus position, reminded powerfully of the days they'd all collapsed into the couches inside Coco Jumbo, huddling together for warmth and respite against their relentless crusade to take down the Boss.
Bruno nodded. "I'm not sure I understand what's happened here, but I honestly don't really care right now. To see you alive and well is all we wanted for all these years, Giorno, Mista."
Giorno nodded slowly. "Let's have the whole story, please, Bucciarati."
The three of them, Narancia, Bruno and Abbacchio all took part in telling it - the battle against Diavolo, in their world, had gone significantly differently, the fracture being that Giorno had gone to San Giorgio Maggiore instead of Bruno, and had been killed there by King Crimson after a tremendous battle that had ultimately involved the entire group. Mista had died later, killed by Ciocolatta, who had ultimately been defeated by Fugo before also passing away. Bruno that had gained the power of the Requiem Arrow in Rome in their world, granted to him by the golden will of Giorno, Mista and Fugo; it was Bruno that had abolished Diavolo, taken control of his regime, and inherited all that the Arrow bequeathed.
Giorno inhaled. "Here, it was you three that granted me the Arrow." He summoned Gold Experience Requiem and let them see him, the bright and resplendent terror of his Requiem Stand, sending a shiver through everyone in the room. "We lost everyone one by one on the way to Rome. Fugo lived, but he left us at the church." He reached toward Mista, who took his hand and squeezed it. "Your death was... the worst, Bucciarati. You died slowly and ..." He broke himself off from saying uselessly, but the pain still sat in his eyes. "It wasn't fair."
They trailed into silence, collectively, lost in memory but also basking in the living presences of those who had been missed on all sides.
It was left to Abbacchio to cross his arms and grumble softly, "This is great and all, but where do we go from here? It's good to see you idiots again, Giovanna, but."
Giorno frowned, but he also took the point. There would be a vaccuum of power left behind, especially if Bruno and his entire coterie vanished from their world. "If you can't go back, will you stay with us?"
Bruno smiled a little. "I think we need to ask our Stands about that."
Giorno turned to Gold Experience, which merely turned him a long stare. "You already know the answer, don't you?" it told him.
The blond closed his eyes. "I can't do this again," he murmured. "I can't let them go again." One world or the other, he considered the weight of both in balance. A world without Bruno where he ruled alone and in quiet misery - or a world where he might have to share the crown or even surrender it? Had he made enough of a difference on his own? Or had his entire mission been sustained by nothing but his fury and grief? With this opportunity in front of him, was his pride more valuable than his love and longing? "Mista?" he asked his second then.
The gunner met Giorno's eyes. "I'm not doing it either."
Giorno exhaled. "Bruno?"
"Obviously, I want you and Mista back with us." Where you belong was unstated, but heard by everyone. "I never wanted to do this without you, Giorno."
"Narancia? Abbacchio?"
"I just want us together again," Narancia muttered, and Abbacchio growled something similar in affirmation. "Maybe not you, though, Giovanna."
Giorno smirked, and traded that smirk with Abbacchio. He knew he didn't really mean it any more.
"Wishes always come with a price," Giorno said, looking back to his Stand. "What does it - what do you - require of us to make it happen?"
There was a strange expression in Gold Experience Requiem's gaze, something unfamiliar to Giorno then. Something like a secret it couldn't - or wouldn't - tell its host. "Can your conscience leave undone what death created in this world?"
"The hell does that mean?" Narancia piped up from leaning on Mista.
Giorno breathed out. He thought he understood, but he wasn't entirely sure. "It means, letting go of what your deaths accomplished here. And possibly allowing Diavolo to take back this world if we leave it. He's sealed by my version of the Requiem, but maybe that won't be true if we move. He wants to know if I can live with letting go of your sacrifices here. Even though you and we are almost the same, our ends came from different beginnings." Giorno leaned back on a hand, gazed at the ceiling. "Would you be insulted if I left all that you had given me at the door? Would you be at peace?"
"Are you asking us permission, brat?" Abbacchio snorted. "If you want us to speak for our alternate dead selves, then I'll tell you to go fuck yourself, because I'm dead. Who cares what I feel when I'm no longer alive?"
"Well, uh.. okay I'm not the brightest and shit but... Gio, who cares what happens when you're not here if this ain't gonna be your world any more? Isn't the one where we're all good the only important one?"
The blond allowed himself a small laugh. "When you put it like that, I just... " He sighed, turning his head. "I've made it my purpose to live on your behalf ever since, but maybe you're right, I've been trying to live for the dead instead of for the living. I haven't done as well as I wanted, and power is feeling hollow lately," he admitted.
Bruno, on the couch, sighed similarly. "Even if you lose your Stands in the process, that hardly matters," he told Mista and Giorno. "We don't need those. But we do need you: your minds and your hearts, your bodies and your golden wills. Those things are sorely missed. One complete world is better than two broken ones."
"Then I suppose that settles it," the blond replied, and as he did he felt a great sigh leave him - one of relief, as if he were taking off a coat made of stone for the first time in years. "Mista and I will cross over. However that's accomplished, whatever it requires. I want it to be so. And I'll pay whatever cost it requires."
He held out his hand, and the Arrow appeared within it, shimmering into existence. Mista slipped away from the pile and grasped his hand over Giorno's. "Me, too."
The others slid off the couch in turn: Bruno, Abbacchio, Narancia, all placing their hands on Mista and Giorno's. Last and finally, the Requiem Stands - Bruno's and Giorno's. The five locked eyes and smiled in victory.
"Take us," Giorno murmured, closing his eyes. He felt a great, monstrous surge of energy pass through him, through all of them, and he felt the Arrow crumbling in his palm, the forces unleashed by their collective wills combining into a fury the size of the sun, turning the talisman into dust.
In the morning, Giorno and Mista were found alone in the parlor, their bodies completely lifeless, hollow as cast-off snake-skins and split down the spines. The cause of death was never understood, and had to be attributed to a freak coincidence.
But when the world ended a week later, under a roar of crashing stars, they were forgotten completely in the world they left behind anyway.