Chapter Text
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Giorno turned the page, but the letters had been spinning and swimming all over it for ten minutes now. Truthfully, he had stopped concentrating on the content of the book a while ago. His mind was reeling and his head was aching, he could feel his puls in his temples.
There was so much to think about, so much for the teen to make sense of.
Despite being told what his father had been like, Giorno couldn't help but wonder if there had been other sides to him. It was clear that Dr Kujo only told what he knew and experienced, so there could've been a possibility that his father would've made an exception for him, right?
Would his father have loved and cared for him? Or would he have been no different than his mother and stepfather?
Giorno decided to shake that thought away.
Instead, more pressing questions flooded his mind.
Would he turn out to be just like his father?
Dr Kujo's words were ringing in his ears, as if the man was repeatedly chanting them right next to the teen. Giorno already was a lot like his father and as if that wasn't enough, he had the potential to become him.
Once upon a time, a little Japanese boy with jet black hair and big sea-foam-green eyes would have loved to know that he and his father were so similar.
Little Haruno would have been so happy, not even his stepfather could have taken it away from him.
But Giorno wasn't Haruno.
Not anymore.
Giorno knew that being like his father wasn't even close to being good.
His father had been cruel and ruthless. He had killed innocent people.
But didn't you do too? a voice in his head asked.
They weren't innocent, Giorno thought. If we didn't kill them, they would have killed us.
You are also ruthless and cruel when it comes to your enemies. What difference does that make?
Giorno gulped, but it was of no use. His throat was hurting from the dryness, he needed a glass of water. The questions and thoughts didn't stop, simply torturing the boy.
He was different from his father, right? He wouldn't become a cold man who was hungry for power.
Would he?
He wouldn't become a vampire, either. It was impossible, his mother was a human woman.
Was his mother's physical humanity enough to ensure that he wouldn't?
There were no records of vampirism being inheritable, much less actually formal documents about it. Giorno had only heard about it from Romanian folklore, he never thought they would be real.
He also never thought his father would be one of them but, alas, here he was.
Now, what?
Was Giorno supposed to just accept it? Was the only thing he could do simply accepting that his father had been a cruel man and also a vampire? Was there no other choice for him?
Knowing that he had the photo felt like something was pulling his very soul down. Giorno's heart felt too heavy to remain in its place, and he had to take a deep breath. He hated this situation.
Then, he realized: how had his mother been able to survive, much less make it out pregnant, of all things? Dr Kujo said that his father had used men and women alike to kill them for their blood. How did his mother get away, with a photo?
The throbbing pain in his temples became worse, so Giorno began rubbing one side with his free hand. Nothing made sense. It was all so bizarre and too much to take in, how was he supposed to make sense of any of it?
Giorno remembered having no one.
Then he found friends, some of which were taken away too soon.
And now he had a distant family who weren't exactly related to him but also were?
To make matters worse, his father had been a sociopathic piece of shit and it could very well be that Giorno also became a sociopathic piece of shit.
But...
He didn't see himself that way.
Which made his thoughts clash with each other.
Because what if there was even a small chance that he would get carried away by the power of being the Don, ultimately beginning to want more?
What if he slowly became colder and colder, without even noticing it?
What if his father's traits got stronger as he grew older?
You have friends to remind you of what you truly want, Requiem whispered but Giorno didn't hear it. The self-doubt was simply too loud.
The teen supposed the only way to ensure that he wouldn't get corrupted by power was to forget about his dream. But he—no, they have achieved so many things already, it would be a waste to give up now.
It wouldn't be right.
It would mean that Abbacchio, Bucciarati and Narancia died in vain. None of them gave their lives just for Giorno to give up hope.
Giorno took a deep breath and stood up, closing the book. He put it in its place in the shelf and left the library shortly after. Walking through the halls of the mansion was feeling unusual, somehow. He didn't feel the usual calmness. Rather, it seemed as if something dark was lurking beneath the walls.
Giorno tried shaking the feeling off as much as possible.
He walked to the living room, where Mista was sitting on the couch as the Pistols surrounded him in their usual loudly manner. "Pipe down! You'll all get a piece", he heard Mista exclaim.
"Mista," he called, which made the other jump slightly.
"Jesus," Mista huffed, looking at Giorno. "Don't scare me like that, man!"
"I apologize, I didn't mean to. Are Polnareff and Dr Kujo still in my office?"
"It better not happen again, my poor heart will stop at this rate! Anyways, yeah. They're still in there. But enough of that," he said, sitting up straight, his face turning serious. "What about you? You seemed pretty out of it. I was actually gonna ask if you wanted something to eat but decided against it because I didn't want to interrupt your reading."
Giorno closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He decided to take a seat across from his friend. "I've been thinking more than reading, if anything," he confessed.
Mista raised an eyebrow? "About the stuff that Dr Kujo wanted to talk to you about?"
Giorno nodded. "Yes. Our conversation revealed a few things about me and my family."
"You couldn't have expressed it any more vaguely, could you?"
"It's the only way to describe it fittingly. But..." he hesitated. He hadn't even told any of the team about his childhood. Wouldn't this be more complicated to explain? He took a breath.
"I don't know what to think, let's put it that way."
Mista was looking more concerned than confused, now. "That rough?"
Giorno kept looking at him, not answering.
"Damn." He sighed. "Well, it's totally cool if you don't wanna talk about it too much, but know that I'm always there for you."
"I know, I appreciate it a lot." He thought for moment. Taking a deep breath, Giorno said: "It's just... I've never met my birth father and today I find out that he was a cruel man. I share so many similarities with him that I could basically become a second version of him. That possibility scares me, Mista."
Giorno felt like he had revealed too much already. He trusted Mista with his life, but it would be better if the other didn't know about his... familial issues.
An urge to laugh at himself rooted itself in his chest, but he didn't act on it. 'Family' was never supposed to be a word with a good meaning in Giorno's life, was it? At this point, what even was a family?
He didn't know.
"Dude, are you telling me Dr Kujo told you that your father was basically a piece of shit? What the hell, man. But, well," Mista looked troubled. Was he searching for a way to express himself clearly?
After sighing, the gunslinger tried again. "I obviously don't know the whole story. But from what I can tell you, I don't think that you would become 'cruel' in that sense, ya get me? You're the Don, so of course you're supposed to be intimidating to those who don't accept your rules, but you're also Giorno. From what you've shown me, you're a nice kid with righteous morals and a dream."
Mista smiled widely after the last sentence, which made Giorno smile softly in return.
"Thank you."
"Of course! That's what a friend's there for!"
They turned around to look at the door when Polnareff's voice began becoming louder and louder from the hallways.
"—can't believe no one ever told me and you're an asshole JoJo! This hurts me, I hope you know that!"
"I told you at the start of our conversation."
"Liar! I don't remember such thing!"
"Polnareff. I literally said 'I have a daughter'. I even told you her name. Why are you whining about it now?"
"Mon Dieu, how will I be able to trust you again?"
Mista clearly looked like he was trying hard not to laugh when Dr Kujo walked into the room, per Polnareff's instruction. The ghost-man was hiding his face in his arms by leaning on the tortoise, seemingly fake-crying.
Giorno stood up and motioned for Dr Kujo to take a seat, but he declined, simply putting Coco Jumbo on the coffee table.
"I'll be on my way again," the man said. "The documents I told you about are in your office. Here," he was holding a card in his hand. "This is my personal phone number, in case there's something you'd like to talk about."
Giorno took the card. "Thank you." He wanted to say more, but not with Mista and Polnareff in the room.
"I'd like to be informed once you know more about the mask."
"Of course," Giorno nodded. "Please, let me show you the way."
He left the room with Dr Kujo, walking to the front doors of the mansion. Outside, there was already a taxi waiting. Before Dr Kujo got into the car, however, Giorno called him.
"It's... I do not want to be like my father."
Dr Kujo looked at him, then pulled his hat in front of his eyes. "Don't let his mistakes stop you from being better but make sure to not cross certain limits. You've already proven that you're capable of forming your own path, so do it this time too. Like I said, call me if you want to talk more."
Giorno's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. "Right."
He was still standing in front of the mansion, even though the taxi had already driven off minutes ago. Dr Kujo's words were once again dancing through his mind like a mantra, but this time it was encouraging Giorno. It was giving him hope.
Giorno was like his father.
He could be even more like him.
But it didn't seem as horrible as it had before.
Giorno was able to find hope in his father's traits.
"I'll use the power I inherited from you for my own dreams!"
The picture in his wallet didn't seem to be as heavy as before. The walls weren't seeming to hide something darker beneath them. And perhaps, Giorno was starting to understand a little better what a family was.
He didn't know if his father would've cared for him, but it didn't matter. He had friends who did.
Friends who could prevent him from becoming too absorbed by the power that being the Don of Passione brought with it.
Friends who would give their lives for him as he would give his for them.
Friends whom he could trust and they could trust him.
Maybe that was what 'family' meant.
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