Chapter Text
Diana returned early that morning just before the sun could peek out over the horizon and was greeted by an endearing sight. The sleeping forms of the passion gang sprawled out haphazardly on the floors and across the sofas, it seemed like they had tried to wait for her instead of retiring. In the center of the floor laid Mista, spread out starfish style, his body taking up most of the walk space. Narancia hung upside down from the couch, his foot dug firmly into Abbacchio's side, who sat with longways on the sofa arms crossed. Fugo seemed to have collapsed while sitting in front of the coffee table using his arms as a pillow. On the opposite couch was Bruno who had propped his feet onto the coffee table and let his head hang over the back of the sofa. Trish had curled up to a corner of the couch managing to fit herself onto one couch cushion, she had also stolen all of the throw pillows and used them as an improvised duvet. Giorno slept on his side using the armrest of the couch as a pillow and drooled, leaving a small wet mark on the upholstery. Diana called upon the World and began to situate the unconscious group into more comfortable positions starting with dismantling Trish's contrived pillow fort and ending with covering them with spare blankets. She started a pot of coffee and had a small breakfast waiting for them when they woke up but she was nowhere to be found. She had hidden herself away before the morning light could reach her.
Bless those children's souls to find solace within one another, it was something Diana understood yet would never willingly partake in. Diana Brando was a solitary woman that should have been obvious. While she was no stranger to attention and welcomed the admiration of her peers; her penchant for attracting people to her person like moths to a flame was a gift. Yet, She much preferred her own company to anyone else's, she had a habit of secluding herself; it was an idiosyncrasy she had never quite been able to shake. One would think that after a hundred years under the ocean and ten years floating in oblivion due to her soul being unable to move on to the afterlife by sheer virtue of Diana being too stubborn, she would have enjoyed some company but you would be wrong. She had grown accustomed to isolation over the years, she had taught herself to be content in her loneliness for she knew she only had herself to blame for it. Though if one were foolish enough to inquire which scenario was preferable, Diana would claim that she favored her imprisonment at the bottom of the sea rather than the purgatory she was sent to after her defeat.
In her coffin she had Jonathan's blood warming her weakened body, branding the insulting star into her shoulder but a new life was growing inside of her. Diana had never planned on having children, yet in a brief moment of madness borne from her loneliness, she had let the little one live dormant within her. She had no way of knowing if the child would survive the birth in the coffin, she couldn't risk it. For a hundred years she sustained the little one never allowing it to grow to term, imagine her relief when that ship had found and released her from her claustrophobic confinement, the crew standing idly as she slaughters them all. They had given her the perfect cover as she regained power, a woman heavily pregnant and easy to pity, easy to love. This gave her a new legion of followers men and women who desired to protect her and her child and maybe even help in the creation of more. A few months later she had given birth to her first little prince, she had wept openly for the first time since her mother's death on that night as she cradled her heir. Her heart was broken into a thousand pieces when she had to convince one of her followers that the baby was her own and send the girl away with her son in tow, she knew it was the wisest course of action she just wasn't prepared to say goodbye. In the end, she knew It was for the best to send her spawns away even if they never knew their mother, they would be safe.
When she had been defeated a second time, Jotaros only mercy was the sunrise and as she watched the golden rays peek over the horizon she felt not pain but warmth like her mother's loving embrace. Her final moments were bliss and then Nothing. She was greeted by the cold bleakness of the void and deafening silence that pervaded all of the oblivion. A place where the only solace one might find was with their thoughts, which rang out all too loudly in the quiet. It was a hell of her own making, a place created with the sole purpose of driving her insane, at least that's what she had believed. She had no idea how much time had passed or how the world had gone on after her death. She tortured herself with the memories of her defeat, with the fear for her children's safety. It was easy to be miserable in death for there was no hope for change, only the constant void. At the bottom of the sea, she had the hope of getting out, the hope of being able to see the world, to give birth to her child. In death, there was only emptiness and for once she was truly alone. Until abruptly a voice had boomed within the darkness, a familiar, unmistakable voice.
“Please Diana come home with me” Jonathan pleads, like the poor fool he is, for a moment Diana thinks her mind is playing tricks on her until Jonathan reaches out to cup her cheek in an act that is full of so much tenderness and love that it makes her skin crawl. A quiet but persistent voice in the back of her head urges her to lean into his touch, to savor the warmth and compassion that oozed from his soul and out of his very pores but Diana refused; jerking away from him and putting several strides of the distance between them. She had no idea how he was here, why he'd chosen to see her now of all times but he was unwelcome, perhaps this was just a trick of the void, more punishment she had cast onto herself. He continues to beg her to come to a home that doesn't exist, back to a family she doesn't belong in, she ignores him focusing on the traitorous warmth of her heart. She refuses to look at him for fear of being pulled under and drowning in the depths of those eyes. He calls out to her, his voice desperate.
“Think of our Son!” Those words ignite a fury in her soul, a type of anger only Jonathan could pull from her.
“He is my Son!” She snarled and she found herself in the living world with the only familiar thing being the presents of The World, her ever-loyal companion, and the boy whom she barely recognized were it not for the presents Jonathan's eyes and the telltale pull of Joestar blood. Every action after that moment had been instinct, an overwhelming need to protect this boy, to protect her son. Nothing had ever made Diana feel more complete before. The last time she had been this happy was when she had given birth to Giorno and just as she had been on that day Diana was tired. She collapsed into the waiting arms of The World and let herself rest, indulging in a childish fantasy that the strong arms around her were Jonathans holding her close after she had come to bed after putting their children to sleep.
Her dreamless sleep was interrupted by the mattress of her bed sinking ever so slightly as if the offender was afraid to wake her but it was too late for that. a pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her close as he buried his face into her stomach. Diana opened her eyes and was greeted to a sleep disheveled blonde plait, she petted the boys head gently.
“Bad dream?” The boy hummed a confirmation and lifted his head meekly to look at her.
“Can you tell me more about my father?” A gentle smile found its way to her lips and she pressed a kiss to Giorno's forehead.
“Of course little one,” she acquiesced, carefully undoing the messy braid and finger brushing the blond locks. “When your father and I were younger sometimes I'd fall asleep in the gardens while studying and while I slept Jonathan would weave my favorite flowers into my hair. When I would wake up I'd always find a lovely assortment of roses in my hair and Jonathan trying to hide the injuries he sustained from his handy work, I kept the flowers he'd put in my hair in a little porcelain box on my vanity. It was my little treasure.” A little treasure she had destroyed in a self-contained fit upon the announcement of Erina and Jonathan's courtship.