Chapter Text
In Cairo, a vampire consulted a witch. In Morioh, urgent discussions were had between the protectors of the city and the Speedwagon Foundation. In another part of Japan, a young girl awoke crying, and her father tried to comfort her without much understanding. In New York, old men frowned in aching remembrance, and calls were made and answered. In all cases, things that had lain quiet and dormant for years began to stir, and many eyes began to turn toward the direction of the disturbance.
In Naples, Giorno Giovanna sat down to a very nice dinner and watched his best friends bickering with each other about nothing. He wasn’t really tracking the conversation, just relieved to have it washing over him while he tried to fit everything happening into a central narrative inside his head. He ticked his fork against his dirty plate - he hadn’t needed convincing to eat, for once - and considered.
The Requiem calling to itself. The sense of Gold Experience under a transformation that he didn’t fully understand. His new markings. The eyes of his ‘father’ in the desert, and the absolute terror that had gripped his heart. The pain in his shoulder that continued to linger. The position that Bruno was offering him. The transition between one world and another, and all the matters that went with that. There were a thousand details to work out, and he was sitting useless, lingering over a little cup of espresso, frowning into a plate of crumbs. He felt scattered and disoriented.
It must have shown on his face, as he glanced over and saw Bruno looking at him with considered compassion. “You’re not too tired, are you?” Bruno asked.
Giorno shook his head. “No, the opposite. Decision paralysis. There’s just so much to wrap my head around, and I don’t even know where to start. Just finding out my father’s still alive would be a big enough thing, but that may not even be the biggest problem we have.” He breathed into his cup and sipped from it.
Bruno leaned forward, linking his fingers together. He sighed over the remains of his own meal. “I understand where you’re coming from. We’ve certainly learned how fast things can disintegrate, haven’t we?”
“That’s just it,” Giorno agreed. “Egypt is only about three hours away. It would be almost no effort at all for my father to come here, or send someone if he really wants to move quickly. He could have already launched someone at any point during my coma. We have to assume that as of right now, we’re at the very least being watched, if not already having things starting to move on us. Is Passione ready for that? Are we ? I just woke up. I don’t know what our internal structure looks like here, our resources, our facilities, what allies we have. I don’t technically even have a stitch of clothing to my name apart from what I’m wearing. Or money, or an identity . And if I’ve just brought more trouble on us by being here...”
He could tell the others were starting to break off to listen to him and he flapped a hand. “Ignore me, I’m just thinking out loud.”
Mista eyed him over his cup. “Can’t shut off the boss brain, huh, Gio?” He leaned forward. “It’s okay, I know you can’t.”
Abbacchio set down his own tea cup. “Be good if we knew what the fuck we were even supposed to be looking for ,” he noted. “It’s not like we have anything clear to go on. You wanna maybe fill us in more?”
Giorno glanced at Bruno, who nodded back to him. “Frankly I don’t have a lot to tell you - just because I don’t know either. I can tell you my father’s name is Dio Brando, I can tell you that in my world he was long dead in Cairo, and that my mother used to speak of him in these tones of - I don’t want to say worship , because she didn’t love anything except herself - but a kind of reverence that was unusual for her. There were fights about it, when I was a child, with my stepfather.”
The blond reached for water and folded his fingers around the glass. “He looked to be maybe mid-30s. A huge man, physically imposing- like a bodybuilder. There was a jagged line around his neck, I’m not sure if it was a tattoo or some kind of scar but it went all the way around. Hair like mine. And the same star mark on his shoulder in the same place. He seemed to already know who I was. He was searching for me as soon as we saw each other. I got the sense that he was somewhere dark and deep, like a tomb or a crypt. And - you’ll say it’s ridiculous, but Mista can back me - our Polnareff had stories. Apparently,” he inhaled, “Dio Brando was… or is... a Stand user.” He paused. “It’s called The World. He controls time .”
There was a sharp, collective hiss around the table.
“ Yeah ,” Giorno agreed, expression grim. “And I already know you’re not going to believe me when I say that he’s also supposedly a vampire dating back from the 19th century.”
As he expected, Abbacchio scoffed. Narancia cracked up too: “Gahaha! Even I know vampires aren’t real, Giorno! A vampire and a Stand user? And that’s supposed to be your dad? You’re full of shit!”
Giorno bit his lip. “I know , but that’s what I was told , and I believed Polnareff. I don’t know what’s true about him in this world. I only know that he felt … unnatural . Unsettling. Something to avoid. I don’t expect you to believe me, of course - we need to see for ourselves what’s true here.”
“You really want us to start freaking out over a hallucination you had as a result of fuck even knows what magic dimension-swapping Requiem Arrow coma bullshit messing with your head?” Abbacchio continued to scoff. “Bruno, seriously-”
Bruno held up a hand to still him. “There’s a resolution for that,” he noted, looking back to Giorno. “I can ask the Polnareff we know.”
Giorno blinked. “He’s alive?”
“He led us to Rome, but I lost touch with him after resolving that conflict. I do have a way to contact him, though. I’m sure he’d be willing to speak with us again.”
Giorno shot a glance at Mista. “He was incredibly valuable to us as a resource before. I’d like to meet him here if we can arrange it.”
“It’s on the agenda, then.” Bucciarati checked his watch. “If he’s still in Japan, there’s a four-hour time difference behind us. It might not be too late if we call when we get back.”
Narancia stuck his hands up behind his head and gazed at the ceiling. “We’re back to work already,” he sighed.
“I’m sorry, Narancia. It’s just me not being able to relax.” Giorno bobbed his head. “If you guys really just want to take it easy tonight, I can take off for a little while and try and get my head together on my own. It doesn’t seem like the layout of this Napoli is much different from ours, I doubt I’ll get lost here in the streets.”
“Like fuck you will,” Mista countered. He pointed at his eyes and then at Giorno’s. “You were in a coma for three days. I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re gonna sit right there and stay with us if I have to tie you to the fucking chair .”
“Mista,” Giorno blushed, grinned over at his gunner.
Abbacchio’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “We brought you here, now we have to live with you,” he agreed, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms. “Your problems are going to end up being our problems anyway.”
Giorno blinked. Bruno did too. Abbacchio crossed his arms and looked away. “Don’t overthink it,” he huffed, purple lips going flat. He looked back at Giorno again after a second, frowning at him. “I’m just saying.”
Giorno returned him a small, shy smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Abbacchio retorted. “It’s disgusting.”
Bruno looked at the group, rubbed his hand over his mouth in thought. Nothing they could do in the next handful of hours would make any serious difference to the outcome, he thought. If they were attacked - well, they were all together, and now they had two more experienced Stand users they hadn’t had before. The best thing would be to keep Giorno out of sight, since he wasn’t a locally known face any more, move the team into a defensible position, then reach out to their networks and hunker down while they gathered intelligence.
“There’s reasonable concern but then there’s also paranoia,” Bruno decided, sitting back. “I’m not ignoring the possibility of danger, and you’re more often right than not about these things, Giorno, but I don’t want us to start jumping at shadows either.”
He glanced at Giorno, and they exchanged a long look- he could see concern still sitting in Giorno’s eyes, but he silently reassured the blond that he wasn’t alone any more. Giorno dipped his head, a small wry smile then, accepting the Don’s authority. “I can’t argue with that.”
“We can at least finish up our meals,” Bucciarati concluded. “Mista, set up a watch perimeter with the Pistols until we’re done?”
“You got it.” Mista gave a thumbs-up and set the Pistols out with a brief flare of Stand energy; the little imps shot off to various corners of the building and then slid through the walls like ghosts to perch outside and hover around above the doors and roofs. “Just wish I knew what to have them looking for , apart from a huge motherfucker like Gio on steroids.”
Giorno snorted before closing his eyes. He felt the slight itch at his shoulder but it was cool and distant, not throbbing and close. Maybe that was a good sign. “I could probably use another round of bruschetta,” he confessed.