Chapter Text
When he dreams of the past, he always remembers what he last sees; the foundation of his dream constructed by the blood of his friends, but it was always swept away by a gentle, warm golden wind. The wind always calmed him down, as if it knows of the hardship and guilt he has locked inside his heart, it assures him that he should not worry to take what is rightfully his, to make his dreams come true, because all the sacrifices that are made are for this moment—for him to take his crown.
He never allows anyone to see his guilt and pain, hidden deep inside his heart, behind the mask of a cold, controlling mafioso that he always wears on his face, and yet that golden wind caresses him gently, touching not only his skin but also his heart, his soul. There’s something incredibly nostalgic, melancholic, painful, yet sweet—like this isn’t the first time it soothes him. How many times he tries to remember, tries to reach for that wind that embraces him, that kisses his forehead, before it disappears into the sky, his hand reaching and grasping at nothing, with only painful feelings of wanting for something lingers.
And then, he always woke up covered in sweat and wetness in his eyes—to which it was a bit of weird really, considering that he didn’t really cry that much when his old comrades died, one by one, while he stood there, unable to stop the rolling stone of fixed fate he wishes to change no matter how impossible. He was a boy back then, even if he would like to think he was more mature than other kids his age, and even if he wanted to think he kept his emotions in check—to not let a single shred of feelings showed on his face in front of people surrounding him.
Funny now that he is older, it feels harder to control his emotions. This is a fatal flaw, for someone as important as the head of Passione, at least.
He is 25 years old now, and has been working hard to keep his dream alive, not just for himself, but also for that person. Even though it’s been 10 years old, he has never forgotten him, who lived and died for his dream, who reminds him of his mafia childhood hero who saved him, who is always stoic and keep his head cool, even when sacrificing his life for the greater good.
In all ten years Giorno Giovanna have led Passione, not a single day he has ever forgotten Bruno Bucciarati.
--
Things have changed a lot, and Giorno thinks at least, for the better. He has completely eradicated the drug trafficking line from Passione, changing the criminal syndicate into something—well, better criminal organization, doing everything that’s not allowed under law discreetly, yet for the sake of justice and Italian people. Polnareff proved to be a really good advisor, despite his sometimes silly antics that seemed to stem from his own bizarre journey that Giorno has no way of knowing. Mista for the most time is still the same, the loyal and trusted bodyguard, but has become much more melancholic ever since the Coliseum incident. Giorno couldn’t blame him, he was the catalyst that killed all of his newfound family after all, it was a miracle Mista was willing to work under him despite that. Fugo has come back and swore loyalty to him, even crying as he expressed his regrets of not going alongside Bucciarati ten years ago. He didn’t know much about Fugo back then, working with him only for three days before he chose not to follow Bucciarati anymore, but Giorno believed in Bucciarati, who has trusted Fugo, and that trust is more than proven after 10 years of their affiliation. Fugo never doubted him nor question his orders, and always delivers when Giorno orders him on missions.
Trish is a bit complicated issue with him. Giorno doesn’t dislike her at all, since she seems to understand his motivation of completely alienating her after the Coliseum incident, but he can’t help but to feel certain awkwardness and feelings that he didn’t understand towards her, especially in times where they accidentally meet and have to pretend like they don’t know each other. He knows that she was a victim of circumstances, and people who died for her sake knows themselves that it was risky mission to protect her life. It was clear for him that Bucciarati would want her to completely free Diavolo’s binds, so Giorno tried his best not to involve her with Passione ever again, but he wondered sometimes, if Trish hold a bit of resentment for him completely shutting her off, even going as far to not allowing her to go to Bucciarati and the others’ funeral.
He did after all, know of her true feelings for Bucciarati—something that then 15 year old girl who got involved in mafia war and was trying to stay alive might have never realized. He hopes she managed to move on, even if her song lyrics sometimes hold certain sadness and regret for the past that cannot be changed.
--
Giorno has his own dreams and ways of what he wanted to do once he became a Gangstar, and yet after only a week with Bucciarati, the years without him have him think whenever there were walls that’s hard to overcome, he thought of what his capo would do at such situations.
It surprised himself too, because while he has spent time and bonded with so many people over the course of ten years compared to that short week he had with his former capo, he felt Bucciarati’s image and voice glued to his mind, as if he was not someone that died ten years ago but someone who died just yesterday—as if he was a longtime friend. Bucciarati, in that short span of a week, has shown such undying resolve that Giorno thought of him more than some of the people he spent years with. He blamed Bucciarati’s flashy death for that, to sacrifice himself and put the others first and his own self the very last. He died saving a girl he only know for a week twice and for Giorno’s dream. Even if Giorno tries to, this was something Giorno would never be able to forget.
Giorno always visits Bucciarati, Narancia, and Abbacchio’s tomb alone, not telling anyone about it, because he feels like an outsider. The amount of time he spent with Bucciarati’s team was too short, and his loss and grief feel like a small thing compared to what Mista and Fugo should have felt and experienced. They were not just a mafia criminal gang, they were a family, a word that Giorno cannot really understand the meaning, even after living with his parents for fifteen years. Giorno wasn’t part of that bond they share, wasn’t part of that family, and he doesn’t feel like he deserve to mourn together with them, even though his heart ached alone, the feeling of loss still fresh even after ten years. There is a disconnect between him and that family Bucciarati has formed, and Giorno found himself a bit shameful of himself—for being envious of the connection that they share, and for not being part of it.
(But sometimes, he feels the wind blows besides him, soothing him and reminding him of his dream. This golden wind always makes the pain dissipates into a something that somewhat more melancholic and burning in his heart, although Giorno is not sure of what to name that feeling.)
--
Giorno doesn’t talk about the past. He feels it was improper for an intruder like him, and both Mista and Fugo seem to understand and respect his wishes. They are still loyal to him, and they think of his well being even if Giorno rarely joins the fights. Giorno feels he doesn’t deserve their sympathy and kindness, for taking something that’s supposed to be Bucciarati’s place. It’s easier to be the head of Passione than to be their friends, and it hurts him a little bit to distance himself. He realizes later that it’s just his selfishness, because seeing them remind him of the past, and he feels like he will lose control of his emotions if he let them treat him like he is part of the family Bucciarati has assembled.
Things were simple even for ten years. He does his work, and more people start to trust Passione. He eliminate his enemies, and he makes Italy slightly better place. There were times where he felt gnawing hole in his heart, especially at nights when he sometimes feels very thirsty for something he doesn’t know what, but most of the time his work managed to distract him from that weird craving that has started a few years ago.
This is the only respect he can spare for those who sacrificed themselves, for Bucciarati who wants his dream to come true after all.
--
One day, Mista came to him with Fugo, face pale and sweaty. Giorno saw Mista’s body trembling a bit and how white Fugo’s face was, but he chose not to comment. It seems unlike himself to be so hesitant and fumbling with his words, and Giorno waited patiently.
“So... there’s this stand called ‘Rolling Stone’ that I saw many years ago, before I met you...”
Mista told him. About Rolling Stone. About Bucciarati, whose death was already set even before meeting Giorno. He didn’t want to hear about this, didn’t want to remember about Bucciarati’s fate again, but he listens anyway, waiting as the gunner retelling his experience, one where Giorno wasn’t any part of it. The young head of Passione has to clench his fist painfully to keep his face expressionless, not to show a single hint of fury for knowing that his former comrades was already doomed to die before meeting him. ‘Sleeping Slaves’, Bucciarati once said to him. Giorno didn’t understand why did Bucciarati call himself this expression when he is anything but, but now he understands the reason death was a freedom for him.
“So you are saying there’s a stand that moves according to fate and it cannot be stopped no matter what. Even destroying it is only prolonging your inevitable fate.”
“Yeah... I was sure I destroyed it... It was persistent too, trying to follow the one it marked no matter what until they are touched,” Mista shivers as if he remembers an unpleasant memories. “Supposedly, it gives the marked people a peaceful death than the painful death that’s stored for them, and it moves without the user’s input at all too, so even killing the stand user would be useless...”
“I see, there’s a reason you are telling me this now.”
Giorno can see Mista’s eyes widened in shock before the gunner lowers his head with a painful expression. Giorno smiles sadly, understanding and knowing. He has been with Mista for very long, probably the longest one of everyone, well enough to be able to know what’s inside his heart just by one look at his face.
“You saw it in form of me, didn’t you?”
When silence quickly fills the room, Giorno knows he hits the right mark.
Mista knows of Giorno’s intellect and quick thinking, and he is grateful for the amount of time his ass was saved by his boss’s cool head even in the face of death’s door. But at this moment, the gunner really dislikes how calm his Giorno’s answer is, as if he had been expecting it for a long time. The implication of that thought just makes it even worse.
“I know of the stand user, and I spoke to him already.” Mista murmured, head still lowered, eyes meeting anything but the emerald orbs of his leader. “Apparently, he didn’t know about what happened to it since I destroyed it, and he thought that his stand has already been completely destroyed ten years ago, since it never forming any other person.... it’s just now that it finally form something else again, although the process seems to be slower since it has been destroyed once.”
“I see,” Giorno hummed. “So I am going to die.”
It’s frightening how calm he feels despite knowing that his death will come sooner than he thought and it was inevitable. He briefly thought of Bucciarati and wondered how he felt, but Giorno dismissed it as fast as the thought came. He doesn’t need the added pain baggage right now.
“ ‘Going to die’—You know that we have to do something right?! You are the Don of Passione!! You were Bucciarati’s—” Mista stops himself short from continuing when he sees the look of Giorno’s face, but still agitated of how nonchalant Giorno’s reply is. “I will destroy it again before it reach you if I have to, but—“
“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Fugo interrupts, eyes flashing with emotions despite his calm words. “Giorno... you have Gold Experience Requiem.”
Ah. Fugo has always been the sharp one.
When he first received Requiem’s power, Giorno didn’t understand much about how powerful the extent of his stand’s power, but he has ten years of experimenting with it. It’s been proven pretty useful to break enemies’ spirit, even if it might have been a bit too sadistic and ruthless for his own taste.
“That’s right!!” Mista flips his head back to Giorno, his expression brimming with new hope as well desperation. “Requiem... you can cancel the effect of any stand, right? Then... even if it was unstoppable before, it should not matter! Even if it’s Rolling Stone is the force of fate itself, Requiem should be able to cancel it!!”
“A fascinating proposition,” Giorno nods, the sad smile never leaving his expression. “But I think I might have to refuse.”
The expression Mista makes is almost comical, but the louder sound of hands slammed to table takes Giorno’s focus away from it.
“I am sorry for my rudeness, Giogio,” Fugo uses his nickname, saying it slowly, as if to calm himself, but Giorno can see his hands trembling. “...but why?”
Giorno stays silent for a bit, thinking how to put what he thinks into words his subordinates can accept.
“That stand... Rolling Stone, was it? You said that it was unstoppable. Its power is not something that can be stopped just by physical force type stand. That once you see the form of a person, their death is absolute, and their fate was set in stone.”
Sleeping Slaves, Bucciarati’s last words are ringing inside his head again. Giorno pushes it back into the furthest, deepest part of his mind.
“That’s true... but your stand’s power technically should be able to cancel it,” Fugo answers, impatience in his face. “The power that allows any action to never reach its destination... It doesn’t matter even if your death is already set in stone, because is still a part of that stand’s power. As long that fate is part of that stand’s power, technically, Requiem will be able to revoke it.”
“That’s it. Golden Experience Requiem, by design should be able to refute it,” Giorno nods. “...however, there’s still risk that my death will not be the only one Requiem will cancel.”
Mista looks lost. “Wait... I don’t really follow. Since Rolling Stone’s power is to kill people that’s fated to die earlier, shouldn’t it be like, only the death stuff that will be cancelled?”
“Not quite. From your explanation, Rolling Stone’s power is to euthanize people that are fated to die. If my deduction is correct, there are two possibilities for how it will go. The first possibility is that Requiem can only cancel the power of the stand, but not what’s already destined to happen. If that’s the case, then only the effect to euthanize me that will be cancelled, and it will just prolong my life a bit with unknown consequences.”
“That’s...” Mista shook his head, guilt blossoming in his heart as he remembers Abbacchio and Narancia, their fate possibly born from the consequence of his choice. Giorno could see the regretful emotion from the trembling of his body. “But even so... it’s still better than nothing right? You are the Head of Passione. You can’t die now. Even if that’s all Requiem can do, that should be more than enough!”
“And that’s where the second possibility comes in,” Giorno continues, voice tranquil and patient. “What Gold Experience Requiem would erase is not process, but the end result. So, if it’s not the euthanasia process, then it would be the death itself, the death that’s already set in stone. A death that takes effects because it’s fated to happen... Do you know what it means?”
While Mista doesn’t seem to grasp it, Fugo on the other hand, looks shocked. “Death that’s already set in stone... People who are fated to die... fate...”
“Fugo, what are you mumbling about?! Do you understand what he is saying?”
“Giorno...” Fugo gulps and stares at Giorno’s eyes, face sweaty and pale, contorting in shock. “Can Requiem really do that...? Such a thing...”
“Like I said, what are you talking about?! Why are you making such a big deal of this?!” Mista pulls Fugo’s collar in desperation, half pissed for not being able to follow the conversation and half scared of knowing the information, but Fugo doesn’t break his gaze from Giorno. It’s Giorno who broke his gaze from Fugo first.
“Fate that will never reach the truth... That everything that’s already set in stone—past, present or future—it can be undone. If Requiem managed to erase the present truth of this moment, we might be thrown into a loop, somewhere that’s anything but here, at this moment. Perhaps.. a brand new existence of different truth.”
It took Mista a few seconds, but when it dawns on him, he releases Fugo’s collar, takes a few steps back and lets an audible gasp out, face scrunching in shock. “No, no way... Are you telling me...?
“Are you telling me that, Requiem can throw this... this time we are in, into a loop? That we can reject this reality.... that we can change fate?”
Giorno’s face was solemn. He is already 25, but he feels as if he hasn’t moved from 15 at that moment. It feels like he was still in the Church, and he was being tempted by a demon to take a delicious, alluring apple he knows is poisoned. “It’s not certain, ...but plausible.”
Fugo said it faster than Mista could. “Then it should even be more reason to use your power right?! If what you are saying is true then...!! Then...!!”
Fugo is already taking Giorno’s collar, tears threatening to fall from his begging eyes. Emotions welled up from his entire body language—sadness, desperation, hope, anguish—Giorno could see it, the haunted memories and regret that’s looming over him, present still, even after ten years, the same loss that he tries to push away again and again inside his own mind—
“Then, Bucciarati... Bucciarati and the others can be—!!”
“Fugo!!”
Mista pulls Fugo back roughly, trying to calm the blonde in front of him to no avail. Giorno stares at both of them with a solemn look. “I am sorry, but if the second possibility is what is going to happen, I absolutely cannot do it.”
“But why?” Fugo’s voice was breaking, from sorrow or fury, Giorno doesn’t know. “Narancia, Abacchio... Bucciarati too... If Requiem can do that... don’t you want to see them again...? Even if there’s only a small chance... You would like to see Bucciarati again right?”
“Fugo...”
Take it, the devil whispers into his ear. This apple... You want it don’t you?
You want to see him again, don’t you?
He is not allowed to show his emotions. Calm and composed, that’s how he should present himself. Showing his hesitation, even slightly to his subordinates, could be fatal in the dark underworld of mafia. Especially for a Head of organization as big as Passione.
But at this moment, Giorno wonders, if both of his friends could sense the swirling tornado inside of his heart, behind the cracked mask he has to keep in order to seize control of himself.
“I, Giorno Giovanna, have a dream.”
It’s his mantra, to remind himself, to push himself, to give him a purpose in life. Fugo and Mista know this, have heard it many times, and understand that Giorno says it not just to reinforce his determination, but also to remind himself not to stray from his golden path.
“That dream might have already been grasped, but too many sacrifices have been made for the sake of this dream,” Giorno says, his voice unwavering and strong. “To eradicate the drugs from Passione, and to renew the organization into something that goes along with the path of justice... This is also a wish that Bucciarati entrusted to me.
“I have promised Bucciarati.... and this is the only respect I can give him. If this timeline is erased, then everything Bucciarati worked so hard for... Abbacchio and Narancia’s sacrifice, would be all for nothing. This dream made possible by his sacrifice... this is the only thing I cannot undo no matter what.”
Fugo and Mista stare at him, at the young boy they used to underestimate, who grows up into a man and a leader in front of them, his usually emerald green eyes look striking red from the sunlight, face hardened with his resolve.
“...but if you don’t do anything, you will die, Giorno.” Fugo whispers dejectedly.
“If it is for the sake of protecting this dream, I am willing to give my life for it. All I need to do is choose my successor, and I know I have trusted candidates in my mind.” His eyes were looking at both Mista and Fugo with a certain warmth when he said it, giving them a knowing look.
“Giorno...”
Mista bites his lips, expression painful, but understanding. He was there when it happened, the entire journey that killed his friends one by one, for the sake of this future they waved, future that Bucciarati risked his life for,so he can sympathize with Giorno’s wishes, even if it’s a really hard pill to swallow.
Fugo, however, isn’t so accepting with Giorno’s decision.
“...I don’t want anyone to die anymore,” His voice is almost a whisper, Giorno feels a shiver when he realized Purple Haze materializing, fuming, wanting. His entire life filled with fury and only regret, unable to see anything but the ghosts of his dead friends, and that glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, could fix all his mistakes in the past. “I know it’s selfish of me, I know this is not what they would want... but if there’s a chance for them to be back again, no matter how small of it, I...!!”
“FUGO!! ”
Mista punches Fugo in the face before Giorno could call Gold Experience. Fugo stumbles hard into the nearest desk, books and papers falling all over the floor. Fugo’s eyes widened in horror, realizing what he almost did, and Purple Haze disappears.
“Are you back to your senses?” Mista’s tone is apologetic, as if he wasn’t the guy who just broke someone’s nose. Fugo doesn’t seem to mind however, nodding slowly, his expression horrified and scared of what he almost does.
“Giorno, I am so sorry—you’re right, I let my emotions control me. That was unprofessional of me.”
“Fugo...” Giorno tries to get close to him and heal him with Gold Experience, but Fugo cuts him off with a painful smile.
“I think I need some time alone,” Fugo says, his eyes full of regret just like back then when he swore loyalty for Giorno, many years ago, and Giorno’s heart stings a bit. “I will accept any punishment after that. I am so, so sorry, Giogio.”
Fugo excuses himself, leaving Mista and Giorno alone in the meeting room. Mista scratches his hat as awkward silence fills the room.
“Giorno... you are right. I respect your choice, and I will follow it if it’s what you really want. Bucciarati... Everyone has died for this to happen.” Mista says, a bashful smile plastered on his face. “But you know, it’s not like I don’t completely empathize with Fugo. I mean Bucciarati was.... They were like family to us, you know?”
Giorno bites the inside of his cheeks. The last thing he wants to do is to show how unsightly he is, being reminded of the fact that he only spent a week with Bucciarati, compared to their years of shared bond, something an outsider like him couldn’t have.
“But still, you are Head of Passione. Do what you think is right if you must, but I definitely am not letting you die now. I will just destroy it again before it reached you, just like Bucciarati’s case...” Mista opens the door, but not exiting. There’s hesitation in expression, something unfinished in his words. While he struggles internally whether to tell or not, Giorno waits patiently, as he always does for him.
“What if, just what if.... think of it as a hypothetical situation,” Mista stumbles with his words, eyes staring at anything but Giorno’s face. “If... you know, for some reasons, bad stuff happened to us, like, we are in a situation where things have turned for the worse, and we lost too much and cannot fix anything anymore, and we are given the reset button, a second chance to fix everything...” Mista finally find the courage to look at Giorno’s eyes, expression a bit sad but also hopeful. “Would that be really so bad? If we are given the chance to have a better future, to get a better ending than what we have now, is it really trampling sacrifice and hard work of everyone? Was it wrong to be able to hope for a better future than what we have right now?”
“There’s no point in thinking about ‘what ifs’, it will just make you dwell in the past,” Giorno says , knowing he purposefully avoids the question he himself doesn’t know the right answer. “The important thing is the present, and the future that’s in front of us, Mista.”
“Haha... I see... Yeah, I guess you’re right, Giorno.” Mista gave him a sad smile, before finally exiting the room, leaving Giorno and his self hatred in the closed room.
“...What are you going to do?” Polnareff voice suddenly cutting the silence in the room. Giorno turns to look at Coco Jumbo on the table, a sly grin plastered on his face.
“So you’ve been hearing everything and pretending to sleep all this time?” His tone is a bit teasing, and Polnareff seems very embarrassed by his accusation.
“It’s not that I pretend not to hear... I have been awake all the time, it’s just hard to suddenly join the conversation without ruining the moment you all have,” Polnareff grumbles and Giorno chuckles. “Also, even the stand that might be able to rewind time... seriously what’s with you father and son and extremely dangerous time-related stand power?”
“Pardon?”
“No, nothing,” Polnareff sighs, eyes turning serious. “Anyway, honestly I don’t think it’s that bad of an idea to be able to return to the past.”
Giorno blinks at him, surprised at the unexpected answer. “We almost died killing Diavolo, killed half of our members, and you said you want to redo that?”
“Yeah, but we would already have the information needed to defeat him, and things might end with fewer victims,” Polnareff returned the answer. “Wouldn’t that be idealistic?”
“....It’s not guaranteed that Requiem can rewind time. And there’s a chance that we might lose it all and there’s no fixing it again,” Giorno argues. The turtle stares at him with a sad look.
“Look, I am not saying this because I want my body back or because I am so naive to think that rewinding everything after you sacrificed so much will give you a better ending,” Polnareff continues, his tone a bit riled up. “I honestly think it’s risky too, and after everything that has happened, I feel like it might be safer to just let Mista destroy the stone and prolong your life a bit more. Passione is doing very well and things are looking up for Italy’s future, there’s too much to be sacrificed for a future that’s uncertain.”
“Then why are you—“
“I am saying that it’s not a very bad idea because you seem to be hesitating on your choice.” The words struck Giorno’s heart like a lightning, thunderous in his heart, as if his heart laid open bare for someone to be able to see. Polnareff laughs when Giorno doesn’t even hide his surprise “Don’t underestimate me, I used to traveled with someone who rarely shows his expression and hides his feelings all the time you know?”
There’s shame creeping back on Giorno’s skin, knowing that even though he tries his best to portray a reliable, calculating and cold Don, someone still managed to see what’s behind his facade. Is he really getting worse at keeping his emotions in check?
“I don’t think protecting this future is bad at all though, assuming you manage to cheat Rolling Stone and is still alive of course,” His advisor continues, and Giorno could hear the smile on his face. “...but if even someone like you can waver, maybe your decision doesn’t align in what’s in your heart?”
“...no,” Giorno cuts in, a little bit too fast to his own liking. “The things that I think are just and the things that I want are a whole different thing together. One is Bucciarati’s wish as well my dream, and the other is pure selfishness.”
“...If you say so,” Polnareff shrugs. “But if you really think that’s right, that it’s just, you need to have the resolve to see this decision through.”
Coco Jumbo is silent after that. Giorno sighs and opens the window of the room, feeling the warm wind hitting his skin.
This should be right, he should have made the right choice. They have gone too far and sacrificed too much for finally being able to seize this much control in Passione. Bucciarati wouldn’t want him to stray, wouldn’t want him to destroy everything just for selfish wish of meeting the dead. Bucciarati died twice for this very future—this golden dream they shared together ever since Naples. He cannot betray Bucciarati’s last wish, cannot disrespect their dream.
Yet he hears it, the devil singing into his ears, tempting, alluring him, knowing despite what he presents himself to be, hesitation lurks deep inside his heart.
__
That night, he was hoping the golden wind would visit his dreams, calm him and assuring him with its gentleness, telling him that everything will be alright like it always does.
He didn’t dream of the golden wind, and he wakes up in an even fouler mood than usual.
__
His room was a mess, with papers flying everywhere. A sweat cold slides down his cheek, heart ablaze in shock and fury while the radio calmly plays the news, unforgiving and cold truth.
“Trish Una, 25 years old singer, was found dead in her bedroom. The cause of death was a point blank gunshot on her head, which killed her instantly. Police are still investigating if it’s a homicide, but not ruling the possibility of it being suicide—“
“That’s a lie... that’s impossible...!!” His voice lacks his usual calm demeanor, only panic and hollow desperation laced in his tone.
No... Trish... That Trish Una?
How? Why?
His mind was a mess, the memories that he spent with her for only a week ten years ago is replayed in his head—so short, yet so unforgettable—Trish who was very spoiled, who was insecure but somehow grow stronger and able to fights on her own, Trish who manages to bonds with everyone, who is also an intruder like him, yet managed to had a special bond that even he didn’t have with Bucciarati—
Trish who Bucciarati tried so hard to protect, who Bucciarati has died for, twice, who Giorno should be able to protect better—
“Fuck!!”
He knows he is not supposed to lose his cool, but at that moment everything seemed to crash down, and if he didn’t punch something, he might explode, and so he does, leaving his table destroyed and his hands bloody. Gold Experience is quick to fix it, anyway, but he doesn’t care for anything at this moment.
She knows how precious her life is, how happy she should be, to treasure her life and not let Bucciarati and the other’s death to be in vain. She became a singer on her own power and keeps moving forward, never even in contact with him or Mista and Fugo ever, working with what she has on her own self to pursue her happiness and find the meaning of her life.
So it’s absolutely cannot be suicide, Giorno refuses to believe it.
Someone murdered Trish Una.
The question is, who killed her? It was one thing if it was a lunatic fan, and while the circumstances would be tragic and Giorno would make sure the perpetrator to be punished severely, it’s something that’s completely unrelated to Passione and Giorno can take care of the problem in a much simpler way.
The other possibility, however, would be someone somehow has found a way to trace her relation into Passione, and her killing is still related to the criminal underworld of mafia—to him. This would be the most problematic thing, because Giorno really made sure that any correlation that Trish has with Passione to be severed completely. He isn’t even sure if Trish can still remember his face, last time they meeting was probably 6 years ago. No one even knows Diavolo exists, as far as Passione members know, Giorno has always been the boss. So if someone managed to trace her relation to Passione...
A Stand User.
It took him a few seconds before he realizes his phone has been ringing. Giorno looks up the caller’s name and his eyebrows furrowed in worry. He only tells Mista to call this number if it's an emergency.
“Mista?”
“ Giorno... Gh... ”
The voice is breaking.
“Is it about Trish? I know. Mista, there’s a possibility that she‘s been killed by a stand user. I have a bad feeling, can you ask Fugo to look it up?”
He wonders if he has been too cold-hearted. He wants a proper time to mourn for her, but right now, if he isn’t careful, things could be proven fatal.
“ ...What... what did you say...?”
“I am sorry, I know this seems really cold, but if we don’t do something fast—“
“No,” Mista cut quickly, his tone is laced with despair. “No... not Trish too...”
“Huh?”
“Fugo... Fugo is also... Purple Haze has disappeared, everything is a mess here. Fugo’s already—”
“Mista,” He forces the words out of his mouth even as he feels like he is going to vomit. “Where are you right now?! Wherever you are, come back as quickly as you can—”
“Someone infiltrated the mansion, a stand user... I am no good anymore.He’s too fast, I can’t see his attacks...” Mista’s voice is getting weaker and he coughs, much to Giorno’s horror at the realization what might have happened. Mista seems like he was sobbing, and Giorno’s heart ached painfully at the rasping of his voice. “Giorno, listens—you alone should stay alive, no matter what... please, I beg you... You are.... the only one left... my leader, my friend, his legacy—”
The line goes dead almost immediately after that.
“Mista? Mista?!”
His concern is quickly replaced by anger, and he throws the phone to the floor so hard it cracked.
“Damn it, Damn it all!!”
Trish, and now Fugo and Mista...?
What happened to this world? Everything turned upside down, just in one day. It had been completely fine, so why is he suddenly losing control of everything? Things that he should have control should have been able to protect...
Did they really die? What happened to the organization? What kind of stand can infiltrate the security he has carefully built for ten years...? Giorno still remembers Fugo’s expression just the day before. He had been alive, had been begging in front of him, for the small chance that might not even work, but as long that chance remains, to relive everything so he can redo everything with no regrets—
On the corner of his eye, Giorno sees it.
A stone on the shape of his form, bleeding from the chest.
So that’s Rolling Stone.
The stand does seem to be trying to move and touch him, but like what Mista has said, it was very slow. It seems like it’s even much slower than Mista explained, probably from the destruction it received before, yet Giorno couldn’t bring himself to think about destroying it, his head full and distracted with his friends’ demise, still fresh in his mind.
The door to his room opens suddenly, and a stranger with braided hair and bloodied clothes came to his room.
No that’s wrong, rather than to say this man is a stranger, Giorno feels this man is familiar somehow. In fact he looks dangerously familiar that Giorno pulls Gold Experience out of survival instinct rather than actual calculated move, ad he feels if he doesn’t do something, he is gonna get killed.
“Gold Experience—!!“
There was a weird feeling, because while Giorno has been intending to punch, he doesn’t feel the surge of wind or even the punching itself. Suddenly, his body has already moved forward, as if he has done the deed.
As if, time has been erased—
“It’s our first time meeting in this timeline, so you probably don’t know me. Nice to meet you.” His voice is polite and young as well unfamiliar. The young man is already in his back, Coco Jumbo already crushed in his hand. Giorno doesn’t even have the energy to get angry as he has to try to protect himself survive on his own, even as he looks at the what’s left of the turtle with painful squeeze in his heart.
Giorno tries to analyze the familiar man in front of him. He should have never seen this man, yet there’s something about the face, something about that face that reminds Giorno of death so much. He tries to rack up his memories, the last time he felt closest to death, ten years ago—he remembered Bruno’s passing, Narancia’s death, and Abbacchio’s sacrifice, the rewound time, death mask—
“Impossible.” Giorno muttered as realization and horror dawns unto him.”Your body posture and voice are totally different, and you look so much younger too, but that face...”
“Have you realized it?” The man chuckles, he seems almost enjoying Giorno’s agitated state. “In this timeline, you killed—no, you leave another me in state nor living or dying. It took me a lot to be able to reach this timeline too. ”
“No, it couldn’t be...” The shock in Giorno’s voice is clear and no longer unmasked. “You are, Diavolo...?!”
“Diavolo...? Is that his real name?” His expression suddenly turns a bit melancholic and sad, as if remembering someone dear. “I have never even found out his name until the end. Sadly, Boss is already dead, and his soul is fused to mine, and we became one.” The man with hazel eyes smiles sadly, but it just made Giorno even more unnerved. “My name is Vinegar Doppio, at least originally so.”
He throws what’s left of Coco Jumbo to the floor, before taking the seat, right next to where Rolling Stone is. Doppio clasped both of his hands and crosses his legs as if it’s really natural for him to do so. “You must be confused, in this time, I must have died back then, ten years ago... how did I come back to live, you think so, right?”
“There is no way you could come to live. Your body should exist no more in this world.” Giorno bites back. “The only body your personality possessed last was.... Bucciarati.” He forces the name out, wincing as he does so. “So if somehow you manage to come back alive, you would be in his body, but we completely buried him already, and you are back with your own body...”
“Sharp aren’t you? Boss was right to be wary of you,” Doppio says in cold tone, eyes turning serious. “To think in the world where Bucciarati is dead, you would be the leader of Passione...”
“....”
“That’s right, I am not the Vinegar Doppio that you killed. I am Vinegar Doppio who survived in another timeline, and regain evolved King Crimson.”
Another timeline? Evolved King Crimson...?
Knowing that your stand can actually evolve is one thing, but the revelation where another timeline actually exists... Giorno almost couldn’t believe it. He has believed it the entire life, that fate is irreversible, that he has tried so hard to move on for ten years, not even remembering what happiness used to be as he works himself to death, for one path of justice, to move forward and to forget.
But... another timeline... such thing where everything can different, that multiple destiny of one person could exist at the same time—
“Since you are about to die, I may as well tell you.” Doppio walk towards him, and Giorno pulls Gold Experience quickly in order to protect himself. “Epitaph now has the power to see not just the future of my time, but also the future of exact time in another timeline.”
“Future of... exact time...?”
“That’s right. How did it go in your timeline? I can see you managed to kill both Boss and me, and you take Boss’ position, right? That’s not how it goes in my timeline. Boss perished, but I gained access to his stand power somehow. Also none of you survived but Bucciarati.”
All of us dead, but Bucciarati...?
Giorno is not sure what to take of the information, knowing there is a timeline that’s so utterly different from the journey he has. A timeline where Bucciarati is not a corpse and manages to survive... it’s something hard to imagine after acknowledging his death for ten years, knowing he can’t return to that time ever, along with accepting Abbacchio and Narancia’s death. However...
“I find it hard to believe he will join you if he survives, and I don’t believe you to let him go that easily,” Giorno says, a looming fear stays in his heart at the implication of the Diavolo—no, Doppio’s words.
He knows he shouldn’t have said that, but the words were out before he can stop it, laced with lingering desire to know about that person’s fate in another time.
“You are right. He would rather die,” Doppio says. “He was at death’s door, but I refused to kill him—death would be too easy for him after taking Boss and the arrow from us. He ruined and took everything from me, so I gave him a suitable punishment. I have him locked up and injected by drugs Passione is experimenting on. I watched the final second of him dying as a drug addict, quite a fall from a respectable capo that he used to be, don’t you think?”
“You what?”
The primal rage that came from Giorno’s expression was inhuman and brutal. Doppio however, seemingly uncaring and ignorant, continues.
“In our last battle, Boss managed to kill everyone but Bucciarati. However, you did something unexpected. You destroyed the arrow that would give us power, and then managed to take the Boss to die with you. That’s why I came here.” Doppio showed the arrow he took from Coco Jumbo, and Giorno clenched his teeth at his fatal carelessness. That’s the arrow that Giorno has hidden for so long. The arrow that Bucciarati entrusted to him...
“The epitaph has shown me the certain time of a timeline where I can get the arrow.” He clenched the arrow in his hand, face serious. “After I kill you, I will bring this arrow back and take over what’s supposed to be Boss’ position and become the new head of Passione. I will jump to many other timelines to get what I want. There will be no more people alive that know of my identity. This is my vengeance, Giorno Giovanna.”
“And for that vengeance, you killed Trish Una?” Giorno says in a low but furious tone. “She no longer has anything to do with Passione, all you want is the arrow and you will go back to your original timeline. There was no reason to kill her anymore... yet you—”
“Why wouldn’t I let the chance to kill all of you all over again to pass when I am here? You who take Boss—take everything away from me,” Doppio’s tone was icy and his expression cold. “You should have seen her face, it was so funny,” He laughs freely like he just laughs at a normal joke. The lack of malicious tone at such a terrifying conversation makes Giorno’s blood boil and his stomach sick. “It seems like since Boss died, somehow I regain his stand ability, and also his soul’s scent. We were two people, but became one, perhaps? Our soul fused, and I regain the same scent as his. Can you imagine how terrified she looks? Trying to search where did the scent come from, confused and scared, not knowing why her supposed dead father’s scent come back while she was alone in her room... ”
“Shut up.” The rage that was in Giorno’s voice was apparent even in his deadly calm tone.
“Or do you want to hear how Panaconta Fugo and Guido Mista died too? How Fugo was melted by his own Stand, and how Mista tried so hard to drag himself towards your room to warn you, pathetic, even with a gaping hole in his chest...“
“I told you,” Giorno grits his teeth and his eyes flash almost orange, the light dissipating from his eyes. “…to shut the fuck up.”
“And wouldn’t it be very funny...?” Doppio continuing, mocking and challenging, and Giorno felt shiver and disgust at his next words. “...If I were to be back alive right here right now, in front of you, in Bucciarati’s corpse and his voice—“
“Shut up, shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” Giorno lounges to him, no longer caring of masking his emotions, pure hatred and wrath lacing his entire mind, primal and almost animalistic, instinct over logical—killing him once will not be enough, he hungers for him, for his blood. Giorno will suck his blood dry, eat his entire corpse, and then he will feed his bones to the dogs until nothing is left—
“GOLD EXPERIENCE—“
“Did you forget that my King Crimson could erase time?! Did being the Head of the organization that you stole from Boss for ten years turn you into an arrogant fool, Giorno Giovanna?!” The man named Doppio yells in fury pulling out his stand. His calm expression completely gone and his attitude goes 180 degrees, going completely furious as he pulls out King Crimson, looking exactly the same as ten years ago, just like how Giorno remembered it.
“The one who is an arrogant fool is you, Boss.”
“Wha—“
Doppio feels multiple images of himself scattering in the room, and finds King Crimson’s power cancelling, as Gold Experience Requiem punches straight into his open stomach. Shocked and confused, he vomits blood, not understanding why his stand’s power won’t activate. Giorno stares at him, eyes cold with an intention to kill him.
“The exact time of future from another timeline...? Could it be that all you can predict, Boss?” His tone was calm, but fueled with hatred and fury. “You couldn’t seem to predict what I was going to do.” Giorno mocks him, even if the man in front of him might never hear those words in his own timeline.
“You... don’t tell me in this timeline...,” The braided haired man rasped as Gold Experience Requiem holds him by neck and pushes him to wall. “You... the power of that arrow...!!”
“Just as I thought, you didn’t know anything about my Requiem power. It seems like you came from the timeline that has a different outcome in this timeline, and the exact future you see can only give you a certain truth on certain time with nothing else.”
“W...what did you say...?” Doppio coughs even more blood, hazel eyes widening in terror, cursing as he received an uppercut that broke his teeth. “That’s why your stand looks different... than the one I remember... ”
“This is Requiem. You will never arrive at the truth that’s going to happen. None who stand before me shall ever get there, regardless of their abilities.”
Giorno let his words sinks into Doppio’s head, waiting to see if his dread and horror will show on his face. Instead, the man lets out a small chuckle, before bursting out into a loud deranged laughter that’s laced with insanity.
“....what is so funny?” The young don of Passione growls.
“Giorno Giovanna…” Doppio’s tone was hateful and angry, without a single hint of fear that death is in front of expression. “You seem to get something wrong.”
“What…?”
“I told you the epitaph show me one image of truth, but actually there’s another thing besides the arrow that I see,” Doppio rasps, His hazel eyes starting to lose their life, yet the smile he has on his face is warm and content. “I saw your certain death. I already know about that stand in my own timeline—I already met the user, and I know about that stand’s power.”
Giorno turns his head back to see Rolling Stone already only few steps behind him.
“You already receiving the power of the arrow were out of my calculation, but it didn’t matter… even if I die, my vengeance will still be complete. After you kill me, that stone will touch you. I will see the boss again… and your foolish dream will die here with me.”
“I see you are already come prepared and resolved to die,” Giorno says. “If you jump to another timeline, you will also resolve yourself to kill us again no matter what the consequences are. The arrow is just a secondary mission for you, then there’s no need for me to hold myself back anymore.”
Gold Experience Requiem whirrs as his hand presses on Doppio’s neck, cutting his airway slowly and painfully. Giorno ignores the gurgling sound of his enemy’s choking, his eyes empty and dar.
“Boss, you said before that you wouldn’t let the chance to kill us the second time to pass, didn’t you?” Giorno says calmly, Gold Experience Requiem moving slowly pulling his fist as Doppio—or whoever he is now, Giorno no longer cares—tries to break free, struggling to no avail. “I am also the same.”
“To think a chance to kill you the second time would come… I can’t be happier.”
In a split second, Giorno unleash all the demons that he has been holding, for everything that happened today, for the loss of his friends, the fury and despair he has hidden behind the mask all out.
“ Useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless, useless!!!!”
The rush of wind from the rapid fist cuffs that hit Giorno’s skin should sate his anger, yet rather than satisfaction, Giorno feels only emptiness. He throws some more punches even after feeling no more life force in the body he brutalized. As Doppio’s corpse hit the ground he stares blankly in his room, suddenly feeling very tired and numb.
Rolling Stone is already behind him, he can feel it.
He is the only one left alive. Polnareff, Fugo, Mista, and Trish… they are all gone. He is what’s left to stay, to keep this future alive He tries to rack his head, think logically, like he always does as Passione’s leader for ten years. Think, think hard. What should he do? The people he wants to entrust Passione to are gone. The people he wants to destroy the Stone are also gone. He is alone now, so he has to think of the best solution to keep Passione alive, to keep his dream alive—Bucciarati’s dream alive.
…but he is tired. He is very tired of everything. He wants to rest, just a little bit and let Polnareff handle everything. He wants to talk a bit more with Mista and Fugo, to maybe properly share his thoughts and his burden, opening up a bit more and let himself trust them a bit more. He wants to visit Trish’s concert at least once, and maybe talk to her again, since it’s really been so long since he talks with him, and he kinda misses her.
He wants so much, and he thinks how selfish he must be, because people died for him to be alive, yet he thinks how cruel it is for all of them to die and leave him alone.
Everything seemed to blur at that moment, and Giorno wonders if Rolling Stone has actually touched him and he is already dying, but when he rubs his eyes, he realized they were wet with tears. He feels the wind caresses his cheeks gently, and he heard Mista’s words the day before in his head, loud and clear.
Would that be really so bad? If we are given the chance to have a better future, to get a better ending than what we have now, is it really trampling sacrifice and hard work of everyone? Was it wrong to be able to hope for a better future than what we have right now?
He makes his decision.
Giorno turns his back, facing Rolling Stone, and he calls Gold Experience Requiem once again.
There’s no guarantee it will work. For all he knows, he might die right after he touched the stone, or maybe he will just simply changing its shape and destroying it, prolonging his life just a little bit more, before dying a painful death, alone with no one by his side.
And yet, at that time, he has never felt like he yearns and greed for something more than this very moment.
“Forgive me,” He whispers. “But this… this is not the ending that I want. This is not the Golden Dream that I want you to see, nor the future that I want to honor you. There is nothing I can do to keep this dream alive anymore here, but I haven’t given up. I still want to walk in the path that I believe in, and I will definitely reach that dream once again. You can curse me if you want to, but I promise you, the next time—“
Next time… I will keep you by my side, and reach our dream together.
“This is my resolve.”His voice was strong, full of determination. “Do it, Requiem!!”
The moment he feels Gold Experience Requiem throws its first punch, Giorno feels the wind turns golden around him, sparkling and beautiful, pushing him forward and kissing him a farewell.
__
He feels like he has been running for a very long time in the middle of darkness. There has been times where he feel lingering worry if all of this will be useless, and if he is just running without destination in the afterlife all alone. He wonders if he has made a fatal mistake, but when he finally sees a light at the end of tunnel, he quickly ran towards it, brimming with hope and full of courage.
The next time he comes to his senses, he was sitting inside funicular, his surrounding is different—the city as well the people looking more antiquated and old fashioned than he remembers. He didn’t realize it quickly because of how old it looks compared to his recent memories, but he finally recognizes that he is in fact in Naples.
The next thing he realizes is how much shorter his point of view is, and the brown familiar bag that he’s been holding. When he looks inside, he found school books and student ID.
His student ID to be exact. The year is 2000, written in it.
He felt his heart almost stopped when he hears a sound of coin falling near his seat, and slowly, he drags his eyes towards the source of the sound, to the person standing in front of him, a coin in his fingers.
“Is this yours?”
When the man‘s gaze met him, Giorno’s memories from ten years back rushes in to his head—the journey that brings him to where he is, that one bizarre week full of surprise with certain group of people he will never forget, the week that was born because he shared his dream with that one person, in one fateful meeting. It feels like the wheel of fate has started again for him, moving towards a whole new future that’s different from what he knows. He stares at the man’s entire appearance, from his notable black dotted white suit, his unusual feminine bob-cut hair, and his deep blue eyes that remind him of the sea.
This is too good to be true. His deduction was correct—Requiem really worked, and Giorno is really sent to the past.
Bruno Bucciarati looks exactly the same as Giorno remembers him from ten years ago.
His heart soared and his throat tightened. He has to do all he can to stop the sting in his eyes from watering. After ten years of loss, everything comes crashing back and then some more, opening up feelings he locked deep inside for all ten years since his passing, all painful and sweetness mixing with his sorrow and longing.
Bucciarati is in front of him—warm, alive.
He took a seat in front of Giorno, pocketing the coin to his breast pocket, and looks at him with those blue eyes again, observing and careful. Not aware of Giorno’s turmoil in his heart, Bucciarati gave him a friendly smile and shoots him a question.
“Let’s say you found a bag with 100,000 lire inside, would you take it to authorities?”
Instead of answering him, Giorno smiles, tender and gentle.
“I missed you so much.” He says instead.