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Giorno is floating.
But he doesn't feel Gold Experience Requiem's presence within his being. There should be no reason for him to float without his Stand, and yet when he tries moving his limbs all he feels is cold air against his skin. It's like gravity doesn't exist in this space and he's helpless to the whims of whatever deity is in control.
When he finally opens his eyes he sees a cloudless sky stretching endlessly above him. It feels like he's drowning from the immense helplessness inside of him as he stares at the deep blue sky. His breath catches in his throat. There's something burning inside of him, consuming his chest and tugging on it, little jagged hooks inside his heart, ripping him heart from the inside out. He lets out a pained wheeze, but no sound comes out, as if the sky has swallowed all the gravity and the noise.
And just like a nightmare, he wakes up.
He's not in his room in the villa, or even in his office where he tends to sleep after late nights. The first thing he sees is white wooden ceilings decorated with hanging model planes. He's lying on something warm and fluffy and when he looks down he sees a soft baby blue blanket with orange dots tucked around his form.
Giorno sits up, groaning as gravity resurges against him, like instead of landing softly on solid groaned he slammed against it from a great height. He looks around and sees he's in someone's bedroom. The desk and cabinets are stacked with records and little knick-knacks. The walls are covered with music posters and black and white photographs. The air carries a faint orange and salty smell.
He should be on edge, already moving to escape this unknown place, but there's an odd atmosphere to it. It feels like home, it feels like he's meant to be there and this is a place where he can be safe and happy. As cluttered as it was, it reminds him of his apartment, the one he goes home to at the end of every work day. But why would this place he's never been before feels like the place he comes home to?
His answer comes in rushing footsteps and loud voices as the bedroom door slams open. Giorno feels his breath catch in his throat as three familiar faces appear.
Narancia.
Abbachio.
Buccelatti.
Giorno has the vague feeling he knows exactly where he is now.
"Giorno...," Buccellati says softly. Giorno has to swallow the sudden rush of emotions in his throat because God...it's been ten years since heard his voice. "You're awake!"
And then Buccelatti is rushing forward and gathering him in his arms for a tight hug and this time Giorno doesn't hold back anymore. He returns the hug just as fiercely, tucking his head in Buccelatti's neck as he cries, even as his tears refuse to fall. Buccelatti wasn't the most affectionate guy back then but pressed up this close to him Giorno can smell the sea off of him, can feel him breathe and shake. Even if he's in heaven, Buccelatti feels alive in his arms. Giorno can't help but think they should have hugged when they were both alive.
"Giorno oh my God!" Narancia is clambering up the bed, squeezing in between their hug to hold Giorno against him and he should have known that this room with the orange scent and the Snoop Dog posters belongs to him. "What the hell happened?! You just appeared outside our house out of nowhere but the TV didn't say that you died and I thought you did after we saw what happened--"
Giorno's head is spinning, trying to comprehend that he's with his comrades, that they feel alive, that he's dead but doesn't feel like he is, that this is Heaven and that's literally the sea outside the window and the weird feeling is back in his chest, and, and--
And then Abbachio is there, shoving Buccelatti and Narancia away, and he fucking decks Giorno right in the face.
Well, it's a good thing he took up that offer to learn hand to hand. If he had been fifteen he's pretty certain Abbachio would have knocked him out, but as it is he's filled out his muscles considerably and all Abbachio's punch does is dizzy him and bruise his jaw.
"That--" Abbachio jabs a finger in his chest and it brings back memories. "--is for dying early and breaking Fugo's heart."
Fuck. Giorno remembers what happened now, seeing Panna and Guido's anguished faces when he went down for the count. That tugging feeling in his chest returns and he winces.
"I need to go back," he swings his legs off the bed, standing up and almost collapsing as the pain explodes. He hides it with a grunt. "I'm not supposed to be here."
Something sad crosses over their faces, even Abbachio looks sad for him even as he rubs his reddened knuckles.
"I hate to break it to you brat, but you're dead."
"No." There's a persistent feeling inside him, a voice calling out like a siren and drawing him in. "I don't mean Heaven."
"So what, are you meant to be in hell? I could try kicking you down I suppose."
That breaks through the stress and anxiety, enough to make Giorno smile. "I miss you too, Abbachio." Abbachio shoots him a small smirk and he counts it as a victory. "But what I meant was, I don't feel like I'm supposed to be here here in your home."
Buccelatti's eye lights up in understanding. "Someplace else is calling you."
"I suppose so." Something warm bursts in Giorno's chest, as if to confirm that Buccelatti is right. He reaches a hand up to rub against it and it catches on the little gold chain around his neck where his engagement ring is hanging from. The sight of it makes him remember something. He turns to Abbachio. "How did you know about me and Fugo?"
"Oh, oh, can I show him?" Narancia asks, bouncing excitedly and it strikes Giorno then that he hasn't aged. He's still the same seventeen years old that he saw last. "Giorno, come with me!"
His hand is grabbed and Narancia feels warm. He can hear his pulse just beneath his wrists. Giorno is pulled out of the room, down a set of stairs.
They end up in an open living room and kitchen area. Giorno takes it all in--the sea just outside the windows, the opera music playing from the radio, the half-cooked food lying in wait in the kitchen, the vase full of flowers that matches the one that's still alive on Giorno's desk. This is their resting plae--a little cottage just near the sea.
Narancia makes him sit on a charming upholstered sofa before he gestures to the TV box in front of him. Giorno sees Abbachio and Buccelatti coming down the stairs just as the screen flickers to life.
"This..." Narancia pauses for dramatic effect,"...is Heaven's movie theater."
Giorno sees the villa in all its glory, his little kingdom for the past years. That glory is overlooked as it shifts to the front gates where a loud and intense battle is taking place.
Giorno sees himself, lying prone on the ground as Gold Experience Requiem hovers over him like a protective guardian. He sees Fugo, Mista, Trish, Sheila E, Murolo and the rest of his famiglia fighting like hell in a circle around him, protecting their Don with everything they have as a battle surges all around them. Something cold and terrible curls in Giorno's gut, akin to the helplessness he felt in that blue space without gravity. His family needs him and he's just sitting here watching them.
"Anytime we wanted to see what was happening to our families we open this up and it shows us," Buccelatti explains. He's wrapped an arm around Giorno's shoulders and pulled him against his side, as if it will stop the trembling that's starting in Giorno's whole body. "We were always with you, watching you grow up."
"We were there when you were officially crowned Don," Abbachio adds and Giorno almost couldn't believe the pride in the man's eyes as he says that. "We were there for Trish when she finally left for a normal life, we were there for Fugo during the narcotics mission, we were there for Mista when he held a party in our honor on our death days."
"And we were there for the long ass years of you and Fugo dancing around your feelings for each other." Narancia is grinning as he watches Mista on screen pistol whip an attacker in the face. "It was better than the telenovelas these two binge."
"You get telenovelas up here?" Giorno asks with a note of hysteria that makes Buccelatti frown and pull him closer.
"Heaven is a lot like real life, but there's something peaceful and ethereal about it. Time passes, but it's not recorded. We feel hunger so we cook, but the food is always replenished. We feel tired but we feel no need to sleep. We only do it out of routine. We have everything we could ever need and the means to look at the ones we've left behind." Abbachio looks at the TV, watching as Trish uses Spice Girl to rebound the bullets away from them. "The only thing that doesn't change is where we are. We can't leave. We can make it as far as the dock and the sea but at the end of the day it's always painful to leave this house."
Giorno looks back at the screen in time to see Fugo and Murolo punch out few enemies that got too close to him. "How long have I been here?"
"Few hours at most. But you say that you feel out of place?" Giorno nods. Buccelatti gives him a smile, but it's filled with a deep sadness that makes Giorno want to fight back against the call and stay. "Then you're not meant to be here. Not right now at least."
"Then, where am I supposed to go?"
"Follow your heart." At Giorno's pointed glare, Abbachio raises his hands in mock surrender. "No, I mean it. My heart didn't feel right until I found this house. I just followed where it wanted me to go and it led me here. It led Narancia here, and then Bruno here. We ended up where we're meant to be."
"I think you need to go, Giorno," Narancia says. He's not trying to be mean. Giorno knows that, but he can't help the twinge of hurt that pinches him. It must show on his face because Narancia suddenly grins and throws his arms over Giorno's shoulder for a hug. "Hey, hey, hey don't look at me like that. I still like you, dude. We just won't see each other for a while." Giorno returns the hug and Narancia is so small and so young in Giorno's arms. Giorno shot up like a tree in those ten years. Narancia never got to grow up. If he was alive would he be taller and finally get back at Mista and Fugo for the short jokes? Or would he remain the shortest, at the perfect height to tuck under chins in hugs like this? The realm of possibilities hurt to think about, because Giorno will always remember him in this body. Seventeen forever until the end of time.
Narancia lets go of him and it's Buccelatti who pulls him up and leads him to the door. Abbachio trails just behind them, a faithful shadow as always. Giorno looks at them and feels the same pang in his heart. They died so young and as he is now, Giorno is older than them.
"We won't see each other for a while," Buccelatti says, trailing fingers along the side of Giorno's face, as if he's making up for the physical affection he never got to show him when he was alive. "And I hope it stays that way. I don't want to see you in this house again for a few more decades at least."
"We'll try."
Buccelatti smiles at him and squeezes Giorno's hand in his. "I'm very proud of the man you've become, Giorno. Please know that."
Giorno's lips quiver and he quickly turns his head away at the rush of emotions that fills him. If a tear slips out when Buccelatti pulls him in for another hug, it's their secret.
Abbachio is pointedly looking away from their little moment. Giorno doesn't expect a hug out of him, but the hand on his head is still a surprise. His hand is warm, so unlike the first time and the last time Giorno held it in Sardinia.
"I promise not to break Fugo's heart again."
Abbachio huffs. It comes out fond. "You better not." Abbachio ruffles his hair, careful of the curls in his bangs.
"Name a kid after me!" Narancia calls out after him just as Giorno lays a hand on the door knob.
"Panna already made arrangements for that. I'm sure you'll see them soon enough." Giorno flashes him one final look, the family that left too early, the little home they've made on their own, and the surreal TV set that's somehow connecting their lives. The tugging in his chest persists, as if telling him to get on with it, and Giorno has never been the type to do things half ass.
Without any backwards glance he opens the door and leaves.
Bruno stares at the closed door for a few moments. It's only been five seconds. Leone already knows what he wants to do. He also knows what sight will meet him.
"Bruno...let him go."
Bruno shakes his head and pulls the door open.
The sun beating down on white sand. A single boat tied to a wooden dock that leads a few meters into the sea. Blue water as far as the eye can see, merging seamlessly with the blue of the sky.
Giorno is gone.
"A few more years," Leone murmurs, hand coming up to squeeze on Bruno's shoulder. "If they're lucky, it will be a few more decades."
Bruno reaches up and squeezes Leone's hand. He closes the door softly.
Heaven is a peculiar place. Just as Time and Gravity only exists on their own whims, Space is much the same. The little cottage by the sea is within the same area as a few other residences. It's a mix of architecture from different periods of time, different landscapes transitioning against each other like a patched quilt. Mountains patched over grass patched over rivers and and meadows, without the considerations for the physics of it all.
There's a solitary house on the edges of a cityscape covered in graffiti and faded posters. At the beginning of its existence it only housed a couple, a man with soft, blond hair and his lover with layered scars. It takes a while but the house slowly gets filled as their family joins them one by one. The house lights up in joy as it greets its final resident, the man with stark white hair and deep, red eyes.
On the other side of the beach there is a house on stilts built over the water. It's a peculiar design. A straggler on their way to their resting place swears he saw a shark circling just beneath the house. A guardian for the couple that lives in the house.
A little ways off the shore, is modest mansion that houses an elderly lady and gentleman dressed in Victorian-era clothing. They sat around a tea table. chatting with another fellow with a peculiar tall hair. Sometimes they're joined by a WWII soldier that's more metal than flesh, or the fellow's mouthy and brash grandson. Somewhere in the mansion there is a young pilot, looking at the ancient TV to watch his wife, his son and their three grandchildren.
Hidden behind mountains and a winding river, is a rough imitation of a small town that houses many spirits. There lives a girl in pink and her dog who will lead any stragglers to their intended resting place. There lives a young boy watching his parents as small, golden beetles flutter about him, carrying little coins. There lives a pretty lady that always offers to clean those who were not able to shake off fatal wounds when they woke up. They learn not to question the cracks on her skin like someone ripped her apart from the inside out. There lives a frowning man who never leaves his dilapidated house, choosing to watch his brother and father for hours on end.
There is a small Japanese-style house just a few ways off the little town. There's always a dog outside, barking at everyone as he chews on gum until he's called inside by a man with a kind demeanor and fiery eyes. They live with a young boy with red hair and paint always splattered on his green uniform.
There are many more homes, many more people living through routines in a vague imitation of life. It takes years for someone to cope with their own death. Some of them never do and they're doomed to slowly lose their mind in their resting place, such is the case for that one young man with the pink hair. His place, a church of all places, is empty of a TV to the living world. All he has is a phone, but no one to call and no one who can answer him.
Sometimes Heaven throws a bone and plucks up a soul to help with its daily routine. It was the girl in pink at first, but now it's a blond man who doesn't know who he is. He is sentenced to assist in the collection of souls. There's a connection between him and the pink-haired man. But that's another story for another day.
Because this story we have right now started with two brothers in one mansion.
Jonathan Joestar and Dio Brando are sitting on an ornate sofa in front of a television. Decades of staying rooted in the same place have taught them how to be in the same room without antagonizing each other, but that doesn't stop Dio from appropriating half the sofa and digging his feet in Jonathan’s side, while Jonathan has a tight, almost bruising grip around Dio’s ankles. Usually it will be a trigger for a fight that can only end in a tussle on the floor, but they're too busy focusing on the television.
The TV is playing the outside of Passione’s villa as their forces hold back the onslaught of enemies attacking them. Giorno is still unconscious, protected by his sentient Stand and his famiglia. Not for the first time Jonathan wishes it was possible to help him from this side. He’s wished it for a long time, for all of his descendants, but Heaven is adamant on keeping him on house arrest with Dio as a very troubling and annoying roommate.
“I don’t like him,” Dio remarks, scowling at the screen. He’s referring to the white-haired Italian who’s been by Giorno's side by the most part of the battle. Giorno's boyfriend and fiancé, Pannacotta Fugo.
“They're already engaged, Dio. Let it go,” Jonathan remarks, watching as Sheila beat the crap out of an enemy who got too close for comfort. He winces when she bashed their face in with her bare hands. “That is the least of our concerns.”
“Wouldn't be a concern if they’ve done their job properly in the first place, JoJo. They let my son get hurt.”
“Our son,” Jonathan corrects. “And they didn't let him get hurt on purpose. You of all people should know how the tides of battle are unpredictable.”
As if on cue, Giorno’s famiglia takes cover as Fugo unleashes his Stand, a particularly wild, feral thing that makes even them shudder a little. They watch a purple mist cover the area and pained screams fill the air. Jonathan winces while Dio lets out a small ‘hmm.’
“I like him a lot more now,” Dio says as a dozen men fall to the ground, twitching and bleeding.
“Is that your standard for our son’s partners? The ability to murder multiple men in seconds?”
“It's not just a standard. It's a requirement.” Fugo’s attack leaves the enemy forces severely depleted. Passione rallies their troops, emerging from their hiding places and starting to pick the survivors off one by one. “Once those bastards get up here I will make them wish they ended up somewhere else instead of Heaven.”
“Dio!” Jonathan says, twisting his ankle and making him grunt.
“What? It's not like you won't do the same! They hurt our kid!”
“Oh, so he's ours now?
Dio snarls, body poised for a fight. Jonathan stares at him head on, faint gold sparks erupting from his hands.
Before they can throw themselves at each other, the doorbell rings.
Dio shoots him a look,” Are you expecting anyone?”
“No? Erina is hosting tea today with Robert and Baron. Jorge is spending the day watching the telly too. Is it one of yours?”
“Mother is visiting someone in that Morioh area. Who can it be?”
They don't have to wonder long.
The door opens on its own accord, their resting place welcoming the wandering soul with open arms.
"Hello? Is anybody home?"
Dio's heart drops.
Next to him Jonathan gasps.
Footsteps echo down the hall before their visitor turns into the parlor. He stops just by the doorway, looking at them with hauntingly familiar blue-green eyes and curly, blond hair.
Giorno Giovanna.
Their son.
Giorno seems to recognize them if the sharp intake of breath he takes is any indication. For the new few moments, fathers and son just look at each other.
Dio stands and crosses the room, Jonathan just by his side. Giorno does the same, moving towards them until they meet halfway by the large window, the very same window Dio crashed eons and eons ago. Sunlight has long stopped hurting him here and beneath its gold rays, Giorno looks young and alive and real. He’s not an image on the screen or a figure in a photograph. Their son stands before them, exuding a quiet strength that reminds Dio of a young Jonathan and a gravity that draws you in that reminds Dio of himself.
“Padre?” Giorno’s voice is soft, as if in disbelief. His arms have remained still by his side this whole time, eyes carefully distant but longing.
Dio knows he's strong. He's survived his childhood with his father, his adulthood faking nice with the Joestars, those accursed centuries out in the sea, and his rise and fall to power in Cairo. There are little things that can break him, but there's something in the way his son uttered those words that touches something inside of him, a single swing of a hammer and cracks slowly building up on the surface of his skin.
He feels Jonathan’s hand on his back, pushing him forward into Giorno's face. Giorno is tall, not as tall as either of them, but enough to look at Dio directly in the eyes, refusing to be looked down on even by his own father. His gaze is searching, expecting.
“Hi Giorno,” Dio responds, the name rolling off his lips easily. He notices Giorno take another breath.
It's the first time either of them has called for each other.
Dio has never been the type to half-ass any of his desires, he takes what he wants without any hesitations.
So without any more preamble he gathers his son in his arms and pulls him close. The cracks peel away as something small and vital that he was sure disappeared when he put on the stone mask slowly comes back to life.
Giorno doesn't tense, doesn't pull away, he melts. Pushing all his weight against his father as hands shakily come up to return the hug. Something he's locked away in his heart comes rushing forward, that childish wish of his to see his birth father coming to save him. It's far past that time, Giorno saved himself, but that doesn't stop him from crumbling in the man's arms.
“You're really here? You’re real?” Giorno asks, voice close to breaking.
“I’m here, son.” Dio says, blinking his eyes against the burn of the sun. He pulls away, one hand coming up to cup the side of his face, fingers nestling into blond curls. When he first came to learn about Heaven’s movie theater, it was the first scene he watched, jet black hair transitioning into gold strands. Giorno leans to the touch.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what? I’m not looking at you in any special way. I’ve looked at you the same way I’ve looked at you for twenty years on that crummy little television.”
“Proud and unbelievably happy,” Jonathan helpfully adds, watching the scene with a small smile. Dio can't even snark at him for interrupting because Jonathan is, as much as he hates to admit it, correct. “Hi Giorno.”
Giorno looks at him with in his echildish wonder in his eyes. The same look Jonathan is giving him now.
Dio supposes an olive branch is in order.
“Meet the other half of your sperm donor. Jonathan fucking Joestar.” Jonathan shoots him a glare but that quickly smooths out into confusion when Giorno steps forward. Dio watches his expression crumble, much like when Baron and Jorge first dropped by, when Speedwagon and Erina finally joined him. Jonathan is a family man through and through, regardless of the clusterfuck of their family tree.
Giorno looks small in Jonathan’s arms, but the embrace looks warm and sweet. Both their eyes are closed as if they want to savor the feeling. Dio takes the opportunity to give a rare, genuine smile, unseen by both of them.
That smile turns to a chuckle when the two pull away and flowers sprout from their combined powers, soft pink blossoms twining around their arms and chests.
“So you're saying one of your agents planned this attack?” Giorno asks, staring at the TV screen as it rewinds the battle that he was unconscious for for a good hour. Most of his forces are still alive. Fugo, Mista, Trish, Murolo and Sheila are safe, surrounding his prone body as it rests on the grass. As it appears Requiem is refusing to move away from him. “Why? I have never met the man.”
“Fate,” Jonathan says with a grim expression. “The world is bigger than your palace, Giorno. Whether you're aware of it or not, the people in our family are fated to face adversaries. Our legacy is a long and bloody one.”
“Pucci is not like my other agents. For one, he is adamant on fulfilling my dream.”
Giorno perks up from where he's seated in between them on the sofa. “What is your dream?”
“I dreamt of achieving heaven.”
Giorno lets out a low chuckle. “And they say my dream is ridiculous.”
Dio’s lips turn up into a smile as he ruffles Giorno’s hair. “Ridiculous as it is, I’m here, aren't I?”
“There must be a flaw in the system then," Giorno teases, earning him a pinch to the cheek. "I’m here too. And I’m not dead.” He stares resolutely at the TV. “I need to go back.”
“If there is anything I’ve learned about this place it's that everything it does is for a reason. You are meant to be here, your heart led you here. But to do what?” Jonathan leans back against the sofa, rubbing his chin the same way Giorno does when facing particularly tough negotiations. Dio doesn't know if it's an inherited trait or if Jonathan has watched Giorno enough to pick up the habit.
That's when it all connects.
They've been watching Giorno for a long time, but they were unable to help him, or guide him through the many enemies he has faced. Now that he’s here within their reach perhaps they can put a stop to Pucci’s world domination.
Ugh. Jonathan’s been rubbing off on him too much.
“You're here to be a messenger, Giorno.” Jonathan and Giorno face him, two identical looks of confusion on their faces. “You need to stop Enrico at all costs. I have no more need to achieve Heaven. I’m already here. All this is just a misguided revenge plot of a man with his false God. And as hard as it is to believe I have no desire for him to continue my legacy."
“There’s something else you’re not telling me.” Giorno's eyes are narrowed, staring him down. Dio feels almost proud. “A man does not have this much power for a person that only he knows about. Before he attacked me I observed that his forces are largely bought off or brainwashed, but there's at least three of them who have the same devotion to this cause as he does.”
“Smart boy.” Dio sighs, deciding to rip off the bandaid. “You have three half-brothers. Well, four to be exact but Jorge is already Here.”
Jonathan coos at him. “Thank you for acknowledging that I’m also Giorno's father.”
“I don't know if you're being sincere or sarcastic.”
“I’m surprised you even know what sincerity is.”
Giorno places a hand one either of their arms. “Nevermind that. You have years ahead to bicker. I may only have a window before this Pucci fellow tries to come for me again. I will not allow him to harm my family. I will rescue my brothers before they go down a path they can't return from.” Giorno faces Jonathan. “I heard that Dr. Kujo and his daughter were attacked days ago. Am I correct to assume Pucci also has something to do with it?”
Jonathan's face gets grim as he thinks of his descendants and the danger they're in. Dio almost feels jealous. Only he has the right to make JoJo suffer. His dislike for Enrico grows, warping the small amount of fondness he has for the man. “Jotaro is comatosed. Jolyne is tracking down Enrico right now to save him. I expect she’ll be coming to Naples soon enough since that's where he apparently went.”
“Then, I shall do my best to assist her and rescue Dr. Kujo.”
Something bitter crawls up at Dio's throat at the mention of his killer. “Focus on your brothers before them. They're your family. Kujo and his spawn can take care of themselves.”
Jonathan reaches past Giorno to pull Dio up by the shirt. Dio snarls, grabbing a fistful of Jonathan's shirt too. It reminds him of tussles on the football field or the Joestar mansion grounds. Some things never change. “How many times do I have to get it through your thick head, Dio?! We are family. Our fates have always been entwined. Those boys are just as mine as Jotaro and Jolyne are yours.”
“You may as well spit in my grave JoJo. There is no universe where I will accept our bond. You may be Giorno's father, but we are not brothers.”
“Enough.”
Giorno's voice echoes loudly in the parlor, startling both of them into silence. He grabs both of their hands and pulls them off of each other. His eyes are glimmering with resolve.
“I will save my brothers and Dr. Kujo and Jolyne. No one is getting left to their own devices, not when I’m in the position to help them.”
Dio is almost blinded by the sheer aura this boy carries. It's in the firmness of his words, the unerring belief in himself, the burning determination in his eyes that rivals the sun. He always believed that Giorno is his son, but now he sees Jonathan in him, the best of both of them living in this boy. And they can't even take credit for raising him to be that way. Everything that Giorno is is all because of himself and his found famiglia. Neither Joestar nor Brando can lay full claim to him.
He meets Jonathan's eyes and sees the pride reflected in them. Giorno has grown up to be a fine man. They've known that for years, but it's something else to see his growth right in front of them.
Giorno suddenly smirks. “Plus, I’m getting married in a couple of months. I'm not going to let an apocalypse stop that.”
Jonathan laughs, even Dio can't help the smile on his face.
If their story began with two brothers in a mansion and ended with this boy shroud in gold in front of them, Dio supposes Fate isn't all that bad.
Giorno’s last memory of Heaven is Dio and Jonathan’s smiles and their warm embrace around him. Jonathan says something, about both of them being proud of him, before Giorno feels a sudden yank.
Gravity fades away.
Blue flashes before his eyes.
Giorno wakes up with a gasp.
Requiem’s hands are on his chest, the blue sky just behind him. He feels the grass beneath his body, the pull of gravity keeping him steady, the pain in his chest settling. He remembers the cottage by the sea and the mansion full of history. An echo of loss reverberates through him, quiet but heard all the same.
“Giogio!” “Giorno!” “Boss!”
Requiem backs away, replaced by the worried faces of his famiglia. They’re covered in bruises and grime. Gold Experience immediately begins tending to them as they pull Giorno up in a sitting position.
Fugo sits on the grass with him, letting Giorno slump against him as Mista and Trish start to question him.
“I’m fine,” he says, waving off their concern. He's unbearably tired. He supposes traveling between planes of life and death can do that to you.
“What happened?” Fugo asks, running a hand through his hair in soothing motion.
“Fate,” Giorno replies with a scoff. He turns his head to look at Fugo, leaning forward to give him a chaste peck on the lips. “We need to make preparations.”
His brows draw together in confusion. “For what?”
“I need to save my family and stop the end of the world."