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Giorno enjoyed going on missions, it was a nice distraction from his other responsibilities, even when Abbacchio was one of his partners on the job. He really didn’t mind the man’s company, he’d even enjoy it if it weren’t for the fact that the man still seemed to hate him. But with Bucciarati coming along as well there shouldn’t be any trouble.
Giorno had received a report earlier in the day, some low level mafioso trying to sneak under Passione’s radar and sell drugs. There wasn’t any reason to think the guy had a stand, and it looked like it was going to be a rather mundane mission.
Giorno usually didn’t bother with something so small, he would’ve sent the mission to some capo to take care of it instead. But when it came to the lowlifes that kept peddling drugs, he liked to send a message. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone selling drugs, especially to kids, and especially in his territory. A territory that Giorno was slowly expanding across Italy.
He brought the mission to Bucciarati and their team. And within the hour the three men had piled into the car, heading to a small warehouse that had apparently been acting as their base of operation. Abbachio was driving, with Bucciarati in the passenger seat and Giorno in the backseat. They sat in silence the majority of the drive, it made Giorno aware of just how quiet it was without Mista or Narancia with them.
Soon enough the warehouse came into view. As they approached it Giorno tried to take stock. The entire building was metallic. There was a large metal door covering the front of the building, and he saw another door on the right side. Abbachio parked the car a small ways away. As they approached the building Giorno scanned the building with Gold Experience.
“It looks like we’re in the right place. Gold Experience is picking up a single life force.”
They walked to the small door on the side of the building. Bucciarati took the lead, turning the handle. It was unlocked. *This guy must be an idiot* Giorno thought. By the look on their faces, the other two thought the same. He pushed the door open completely. Abbachio walked in first, pulling a pistol out of belt.
Walking in they were surrounded by pallets, stacked high and wrapped tight in black stretch wrap. Giorno and Bruno looked at each other, infuriated that this had happened under their noses. Further in they eventually came to an empty area in the middle of the warehouse. Looking up he saw that there was a second story, open in the middle to look over the ground floor.
Then Giorno saw the man, sitting at a desk above them, furiously writing something into a small notebook his eyes were flitting from the notebook and down to the three men. When he saw Giorno watching him he froze, pen freezing on the page.
“Signor D’Alto, you know why we’re here.”
“Ah, Giorno Giovanna. I didn’t expect to meet you so soon. And Bruno Bucciarati. And Abbachio...... Leone Abbachio. Am I correct?”
Abbachio lifted the pistol to aim at him, “I’d be a lot more worried about your life than our names, asshole.”
D’Alto just smiled, “Thank you Leone that’s all I needed to know.”
He ripped three pages out of his notebook. He held the pages above his head, a hand materialized to take the papers.
“He has a stand!” Bruno shouted.
“All King Rat needs is your names! And you were so kind to walk into range! Now we’ll see how powerful you really are Giovanna!”
To Giorno’s side he heard Abbachio swear, aiming and firing his pistol. The man had managed to duck with the help of his stand. The stand lifted one paper, sliding it into a slot on its chest.
Immediately he felt a change. Nothing around him had changed, but he could feel water up to his shin slowly moving higher. He could even hear it sloshing as he walked. It slowed his movements as he tried to move to the stairs, but when he looked down there wasn’t any water to be seen.
He saw the stand slowly inserting the other two papers into its chest, into two slots lower than the original, as Abbachio aimed to again. A shot rang a split second after the last paper fit into place. The floor opened beneath them, dropping them into a massive vat of water, as Giorno’s head went under the water his vision darkened.
When his vision returned he was sitting on the floor of a dingy kitchen. It was dirty, cramped. He recognized instantly. It was the apartment he used to live in when he and his mother had still been in Japan. From where he stood he could see the living room, where Bucciarati and Abbachio stood over a crib.
“Who the hell is this kid? Fucking ignoring us. Hey! Piece of shit!”
“He can’t see or hear us,” Giorno explained.
“Then why’s he shaking like a goddamn leaf? What did that stand do? Where are we, brat?”
Giorno sighed, Bucciarati looked into his eyes, and back towards the child. Eyes widening a little bit.
“The stand is replaying a memory.”
“This is a memory of yours, Giorno?” Bucciarati asked, looking at him again. Abbachio looked as well, his brow furrowed.
Giorno nodded. Looking at the crib for the first time. He saw himself. Back when he was Haruno. The kid was chewing his fingers, gripping the side of the crib as he shook. There were small noises from him too. Small whimpers, broken off cries. It almost disgusted him, thinking that he used to be the child in front of them.
Then there was a sharp pain in his stomach, he doubled over clutching his abdomen. Bruno was at his side in a second. A hand resting on his back, trying to comfort. Giorno flinched. Haruno stopped trembling in the crib, straightening up, he looked down at Giorno.
“You can deny it all you want, but I’m still a part of you. You’ll always be a pathetic little boy, with no one to care about you. Why would anyone care about someone so useless?” he said, it was in Japanese. Giorno was relieved, that meant the other two wouldn’t understand him. He felt tears spring to his face, but whether that was from the pain of the words or the pain in his stomach he didn’t know.
“Giorno, what did he say? What language was that?” Bucciarati asked.
When Giorno looked up towards Abbachio the man seemed frozen, his face was paler than usual. He didn’t have to think about it before his head felt like it was splitting open, and his vision faded once more.
It was brighter when he opened his eyes again. His stomach still ached, as if he had been punched. This time he saw his mother. He hadn’t seen his mother in more than a year, and he didn’t plan to see her again. She was packing her purse, Haruno watched her from the couch. The crib was gone now, sold as soon as she thought she could.
The other two mafiosi were standing on the far side of the room. Bucciarati looked at the scene with curiosity, moving towards Giorno when he saw him. Abbachio still looked pale, staring at the kid on the couch.
“If I have to deal with anymore of your whining, Haruno, I won’t be coming back.”
Bucciarati stopped walking and looked towards the woman, “What is she saying?” He looked to Giorno.
“And if I have to come home because one of the neighbors complained about you, I’ll kick you out, and we can see how long you can survive out there without me. Got it?” She looked at Haruno, looking far too kind for her words.
Haruno nodded, staring at his lap, “Yes, mother.”
“Good,” she stood up, walking to the couch. She suddenly grabbed the child’s face, forcing him to look into her eyes.
“Why couldn’t you be like your father? Dio was so beautiful and perfect, so why the hell are you such a piece of shit?”
Forcing his face to the side, she revealed the birthmark on his shoulder. Digging her nails into it until the child couldn’t hold in a whine. Giorno felt an ache in his shoulder joining the one in his stomach, and brought his hand to cover where his mark lay. She pushed the child away from her, thankfully he he was on the couch, and she began moving for the door. She was nearly there when she suddenly stopped, turning and looking at Giorno. For a moment he thought she was looking back at the child him, but she met his eyes.
“You were always useless, Haruno. You may look more like him now, but compared to Dio? You will always be pathetic, scared, and useless, useless, useless!”
Giorno closed his eyes, wishing this was over already. But he had a feeling that that end was nowhere in sight. He heard the door close, and opened his eyes. Abbachio and Bucciarati were both looking at him. He willed his eyes not to tear up. Bucciarati reaches towards him, his hand didn’t connect as it all went dark again. He had a feeling it was going to get worse.
His back was against a wall, he opened his eyes. He was on the ground, he immediately knew where he was. This time he was in Italy, his child counterpart sat next to him with his arms over his head. His step-father loomed above them, belt in hand.
He saw two men behind him. Two men that distinctly didn’t belong in the scene. Bruno had a hand to his mouth. Abbachio has turned stone faced, but he moved forward to kneel in front of Giorno. Gently placing his hands on Giorno’s shoulders, he pulled the teen into him. Wrapping an arm around his back and resting a hand on the back of his head. Giorno gasped, but slowly brought his hands to Abbachio’s back. He positioned their heads so Giorno could no longer see the scene.
But he could still hear everything. Every snap of the belt created a new ache in Giorno’s arms or legs. He could hear every whine from the child next to him. Tears started forming, but when he brought a hand to his face he noticed he was shaking. He put his hand back down.
“Maybe this’ll finally teach you to stop staring at me with your creepy eyes, you little shit!” the man above them said, “It’s bad enough I gotta let you stay in my house, feed you when you don’t earn it. I have to deal with your creepy eyes too! Maybe one of these days I’ll just take them out! Huh, Haruno? Think that would help?!”
Haruno said nothing. Just kept his arms up, trembling. His eyes were shut tight, not daring to look up. Giorno’s arms felt like they were burning. The ache in his stomach and shoulder had stayed as well. He was speaking Italian. They could understand everything he said. He tightened his grip on Abbachio unconsciously.
“Such a shitty name too. Haruno. Got a new one, didn’t you, Giorno? Ha, change your name all you want. Your still the same piece of shit. You think an Italian name will make you more accepted, you little freak?”
The belt snapped down again. Giorno buried his face in Abbachio.
“A new name doesn’t mean you belong! Who would accept a little useless BRAT like you?!”
Abbachio tightened his grip as everything went dark. This time they were in a street, Haruno Giovanna was walking down the street. There was a group of older kids. Giorno remembers this moment. He’s almost relieved, after the previous memory.
He wiped his eyes. Bucciarati and Abbachio were standing on either side of him. He could still feel the aching.
“I think this stand is using moments from my past to tire me. There seems to be lasting physical effects,” he stated, trying to control the shaking in his voice.
That snapped the men out of their daze of staring at the child in front of them. Bucciarati reached out for him, but stopped when Giorno flinched away from the movement.
“Giorno?”
“Sorry,” he immediately said, “my shoulder is aching. It would be unwise to put pressure on it.”
He was thankful Bucciarati didn’t mention that it was his other shoulder that had the birthmark. All of a sudden there was an ache in his nose. Haruno was tripped, he tried to get up. A foot stopped him, kicking him in the stomach. It flared Giorno’s pain, he brought a hand to his stomach. A few more kicks landed, each resulting in more aching. Suddenly the boys ran off.
Giorno looked up, he’d never seen what caused the boys to leave. Across the street he saw a teenager coming towards the boy. He heard a sharp intake. The teen boy had short white hair, and purple lipstick.
Kneeling next to Haruno, he set a water bottle near the boys hand. Haruno wasn’t thinking straight, and started speaking Japanese. The teen clearly couldn’t understand, just pat the kids head and stood. He started walking past the group, but stopped. His violet and gold eyes meeting turquoise.
“How pathetic do you have to be to rely on people you don’t know?”
Abbachio was seething next to him. Bucciarati was silent, scanning the teen in front of him.
“Pity will only get you so far. Eventually everyone will see that the cost of keeping you alive isn’t worth it.”
A fist came from the side of Giorno, as Abbachio struck out at the younger vision of himself. But his hand didn’t make contact, passing through. His vision darkened again.
When his vision cleared his stomach dropped. In front of them a black haired teen, sitting in a dark bathroom. They couldn’t see what was beyond the bathroom’s wall, given the high windows that had glass impossible to see through. Giorno knew outside the door was a cemetery.
It had made sense at the time. Where else would someone with nowhere to go, go to die? He held a large bottle of pills in his hands. The boys hands already shook, he hadn’t even taken any pills. No matter how hard he tried to keep his composure, he began shaking alongside the boy.
Giorno was going to kill that stand user, and make him suffer. Most of his body ached now, and when he saw the boy he used to be tip the bottle into his mouth, he collapsed. Bucciarati had already rushed to the boy across from Giorno, trying desperately to stop the vision.
His throat burned. He knew what came next. Rushing to the toilet the kid started throwing up. But the pills that had gone in didn’t come back up, replaced with flower petals. Blood red Marigold petals filled the toilet bowl. They flowed relentlessly, too dry for his sore throat.
He watched carefully as he saw his hair grew longer and brighter, as the young man continued to bend over the toilet. It stopped just below his shoulder blades, falling into his face. Giorno hadn’t been able to see the process before, too distracted in the moment. At least there was one upside, seeing the boy in front of him shift until he was looking at a reflection of himself.
It felt like he could barely breathe as he watched himself bring his shaking hands to his new hair. When he gripped his blonde hair, pulling until his scalp stung, he knew it was real. He slowly brought a shaking hand to the wallet in his pocket, pulling it out as he fell to a seated position. And there was the picture of his father. Of Dio. Pulling his hair towards the photo, he compared the color.
“H-how?!... Father, why is this happening? 15 years.... why now?!” He was in tears now, leaning his head against his knees as he cried for the first time in years.
Abbachio and Bucciarati were stunned by the scene in front of them. Giorno was just trying to breath. Across from him, the newly blonde teen quieted his crying, he slowly stood up and moved to the sink. Looking in the mirror above it, he stared at his new curls, and then down at the photo. The hand gripping the sink clenched.
“Thank you... Father. You’ve shown me a bright path to the future. Haruno Shiobana.... Giorno Shiobana.... he died today. A new day has dawned...” He brought his chin up, straightening his posture, “My name is Giorno Giovanna, and I won’t die until I see my dream realized.”
It really did seem overdramatic, watching it play out. Especially when he saw Gold Experience materialize behind him, the newly named Giorno barely even flinched, gasping at the golden stand. The real Giorno did flinch when he felt a hand on his shoulder, Bucciarati. Then came a shift, the boy and stand stood stiffly, looking at Giorno on the floor.
“Pretty easy to pretend you’re a new person when you can change your hair and name. But how long do you think it’ll last until your back to realizing how useless you are? How long will it take for you to try ending it all again? The pills didn’t work,” Giorno brought a hand to his throat, it burned as if it had been thorns instead of petals, “maybe a rope next time? Maybe a bridge. Maybe one day Gold here will finally pity you enough to kill you, change your bones to vines and see how much you can suffer as you die out. If you’re lucky your ‘friends’ will finally figure out how useless you are and will put you out of your misery! You’re a fool to think Dio would care about you. You’re better off dead.”
By the end of his rant Giorno had doubled over hand to his throat. He felt the phantom sensation of petals and pill tablets stuck inside his throat. Bucciarati’s hands were on his back and shoulders. He couldn’t see what Abbachio was doing. His vision went black.
This time when he came to his senses he stood in an empty, dark room. But he could hear someone, or something. Bucciarati and Abbachio were still at his side. He collapsed immediately this time, he still couldn’t breath.
“Giorno? What’s happening? Where are we now?” The black haired man asked, kneeling to help. Giorno could do nothing but shake his head.
“Such a piece of shit. Of course you’re crying again, what did I tell you Haruno? Nobody wants to hear your stupid whining,” it was his mother’s voice, speaking Japanese. He looked up, to see her pass by without sparing him a glance.
“You always deserves worse than that belt. Obviously I didn’t beat you enough, look how fucking pathetic you are, with your creepy fucking eyes, I’d be doing to world a favor by gouging them out,” came his stepfather’s voice.
Several voices came next, “Such a freak.” “You don’t belong here.” “You don’t belong anywhere.” “Nobody wants you around.”
“You’re so pathetic it’s hard not to take pity on you, but that’ll only get you so far. Pity can’t make people like you,” came the youthful voice of Abbachio.
Giorno saw they had begun to form a circle surrounding them. Glaring down at Giorno. Bucciarati was still kneeling by his side, as Abbachio was staring at each of the figures. He was glaring, almost as if he was trying to memorize their faces. He heard his own voice now.
“Poor little pathetic boy thinks that some hair means his father loved him? That’s pathetic, you know better. It means nothing. Who would love someone like you? And you think you can just pretend to be another person? You’re always going to be the same Haruno Shiobana that panics at the thought of his stepfather, at the smell of scotch, the sound of a belt unbuckling, even something as stupid as silence at night. Try to pretend, but you’re still absolutely useless.”
He didn’t know what he was going to hear next, there were hollow footsteps stopping in front of them, the voice surprised him. He hung his head, not wanting to face the icy stare.
“You knew it when you joined me and you know it now. The minute you compromise me or my team, the minute you outlive you’re usefulness, is the minute my protection of you ends. You’ll be dead before you can pose any threat.”
“Giorno, no,” Bucciarati said, staring at a clone of himself in horror, “none of that’s true.”
He sounded like he wanted to continue, his hand on Giorno’s shoulder. But another voice cut through the darkness. A voice Giorno hadn’t heard in years. His head shot up to face his hero.
“I tried to protect you, because you saved my life. I thought I made it clear that you were supposed to stay away from the mafia, and now you’re a Don. I’m so disappointed. What was the point in protecting you, if you insist on getting yourself killed because of the mafia?” Giorno couldn’t stop the tears flowing down his cheeks now, “I owed you for what you did, but did you really think I cared? If I actually cared about you, you’d know my name.”
Abbachio moved in front of Giorno, trying to block the man from Giorno’s sight. The vision walked through him, and knelt in front of Giorno. He grabbed the boys face, yanking it to look up.
“You still deny all of it. All of the truth you’ve heard. It’s senseless denial from a little boy refusing to accept reality,” he drew a fist back, he heard his companions shout as his childhood hero punched him in the face. Knocking him out.
He woke slowly. Every pain he felt from his memories still remained. He felt weak, and exhausted, he didn’t bother opening his eyes. It felt like he had just been pulled out of a lake, no water could be seen but he still felt like he had been drowning.
“Giorno? Are you awake, Giorno?” He heard Bucciarati call.
Not opening his eyes he gave a nod and hoped he’d see it. His voice couldn’t be trusted not to shake or sob. On his other side he heard Abbachio getting up, grabbing his gun and walking past him. *Maybe he’ll take pity and just shoot me* came a thought. That wouldn’t happen, he knew that. He shrunk into himself anyways.
He could hear Bucciarati sit next to him. Resting his hand on Giorno’s shoulder, it made the ache worsen, but he refused to flinch away. The star on his shoulder felt like it was burning into his flesh, he could feel his face swelling where he had been punched, and his throat still felt blocked and full of marigold petals.
Behind him he could hear Abbachio bounding up the metal staircase, stopping at the top.
“The user’s already dead. I managed to get a shot right before we went under.”
“Good work, Leone. We should head home.”
Abbachio hurried back down the stairs. Moving towards them. Giorno pushed himself to get up, holding in the pained sounds trying to escape his throat. His eyes still clenched tight. Suddenly there was an arm under his legs and one behind his back lifting him up. His eyes opened wide to see it was Abbachio carrying him. He didn’t bother fighting against the grip. They walked out of the building, Bucciarati behind them. When he looked at the floor behind them there was no hole, no trapdoor of any kind, not even a drop of water, *None of it was real*. It didn’t make him feel better.
Once they got to the car Abbachio set Giorno down in the back seat, starting to move to the driver side before being stopped. Bucciarati took the keys, nodding towards the back seat. Abbachio took the hint and slid in next to the 16 year old, putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him to rest on his side.
He let himself rest on Abbachio’s shoulder as Bucciarati started up the car, heading home. Everyone in the car was silent. *They know now,* Giorno thought, *They know how worthless I am now, they’ll get rid of me. Why would they want me around, they were just nice to me before but they won’t be now. They know how weak I am.*
When Abbachio felt the teens head burrow further into his shoulder, he leaned his head down. Whispering, “You still know Japanese?” When he felt Giorno nod against him he spoke again, this time in a slightly accented Japanese.
“If you tell anyone you’re dead, but I started learning Japanese because of that day, wanted to be able to help properly if I met that kid again. I had no idea that was you.”
Giorno’s head shot up, looking at the man. He had the same stone face as normal, but raised an eyebrow.
“So you understood everything then? I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”
Abbachio looked mad at that, Giorno looked away. He tried to draw away until the arm around him tightened.
“Dammit kid, you don’t have to apologize for everything. You don’t have to apologize for anything that happened in there.”
“The.... things it showed. They’re inconsequential, I would appreciate if you could forget them.”
The car stopped. Giorno wasn’t prepared for the sudden brake, hitting the seat in front of him from the jolt. He couldn’t hold in his pained gasp as one hand grabbed his stomach, another his throat, folding in on himself.
“Shit, Giorno?”
“I’m fine, you just surprised me,” he rasped out.
“ The stand had a physical affect, didn’t it?”
“Most of it’s gone already. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Dammit Giorno,” shouted Bucciarati from the front seat, “stop trying to push us away. We’re not going to abandon you, no matter what those stupid visions said.”
Looking up, Giorno saw he was gripping the steering wheel hard enough his knuckles were white. A tear dropped onto the wheel. He made Bucciarati cry. He couldn’t move, he made Bucciarati cry.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-..... I’m sorry.”
When Bucciarati met his gaze, he saw red eyes and tear tracks. Giorno immediately broke eye contact, looking down.
“Giorno... I’m sorry I yelled, this can’t be easy on you. But please, we can’t help you if you lie to us.”
“I.... I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Look kid,” Abbachio interjected, “I’m not gonna lie and say we’re not upset, or freaked out. We are. None of that’s your fault. We’re worried-“
“I don’t want you to worry-“
“That just makes us worry more, kid. We’re not pitying you, we’ve all been through a lot of shit, we all know pity is useless. But you’ve been through a lot, and tonight you got it all slapped in your face and shared without your permission. We’re not gonna think less of you for that.”
He leaned back again once he finished his statement. But kept his eyes on Giorno, who stared back with wide eyes. As he saw the tears start to well up, Abbachio opened his arms, looking away. He was about to put his arms down after a moment when he felt the boy crash into him. He brought his arms down to encase him as he began to silently sob. He whispered in Japanese again, “you can cry out loud. It’s okay.”
He felt him shake his head and reply, “I’d rather not, my throat is still burning.”
The man nodded, understanding. And though it felt strange, he brought one of his hands to the back of the boys head, he noticed his hair was in disarray. He undid the braid, brushing through the long hair with his fingers. He hoped letting it down would help alleviate any headache the boy might have.
The closer to home they got, and longer they rested, the more the boy against his side started to relax into him. He wasn’t sure he was still awake by the time they got home. But as the car came to a stop he slowly lifted himself. He stared at the home as the other two got out of the car. Bucciarati opened the door for him, and the three walked to the house. Abbachio walked in first, keeping Giorno between the two men.
“You guys are back!” He heard Mista shout from the front room.
“Didn’t expect it to take that long. Somethin’ happen?” Narancia asked.
“It’s taken care of,” Abbachio said.
“So something did happen,” came Trish’s voice from the stairs.
Her eyes fell on Giorno. Abbachio had blocked him from the other’s eyesight. But hadn’t managed to cover the stairs. She rushed forward, only to stop when he shrunk at the movement.
“What happened to Giorno?”
“What?! Something happened to Giorno?!”
“Shit, I knew I should’ve gone! I’m supposed to be his bodyguard!”
“Will you all shut up!” Abbachio exploded, “we’re taking Giorno to his room. If he decides to tell you what happened, then we’ll tell you. Right now just fucking let him rest.”
Trish scoffed at him, “We’re just worried about Giorno, you don’t have to act like a jerk,” she spared another glance to Giorno, still looking worried, before stormed into the living room with the others.
Giorno further shrunk himself in Abbachio’s shadow as they moved to his room. Fugo poked his head out of his room, “What’s going on? I heard shouting.”
“Nothing to worry about for now,” Bucciarati said, “you can go back to reading.”
“.... You better not be lying to me,” he said, though he went back into his room without complaining.
They stepped into Giorno’s room, letting Giorno sit on the edge of his bed. He took off his shoes as they sat beside him.
“Giorno, can we.... talk about this?”
A shaky sigh escaped his mouth, “Talk about what?”
“That final memory. How long ago was that?”
“..... Three months before I met all of you.”
“Why?” Bucciarati couldn’t help but ask.
“You saw my life. I didn’t have any reason to live.”
“Giorno-“
“You also saw my... ‘real name’. Why bother with calling me Giorno?”
“Do you consider that to be your name? Or do you consider Giorno Giovanna to be your name?”
“I..... my name is Giorno Giovanna.”
“Then I’ll continue calling you by the name you consider yours. That’s your ‘real name’.”
“....Thank you.”
They continued to sit there. Until Abbachio turned his face towards him.
“Shit. You’ve got a bruise. We should check where else injuries might be appearing.”
Giorno knew for that he’d have to take off his shirt. He didn’t want to, but his forearms were starting to sting. He didn’t look forward to them seeing his scars. Seeing a few moments was one thing, but he had countless scars scattered across his abdomen. Bucciarati must’ve seen his hesitation.
“Is it okay?”
Giorno nodded, taking a ragged breath. His hands shook as he unbuttoned his shirt, he closed his eyes as he pulled it off. It hurt, but eventually he got it off. He left his eyes closed as his hands dropped to his lap.
“Shit, your arms are bleeding,” Abbachio said.
When Giorno looked down he saw Abbachio was right. There were slashes across his forearm. Caused by that damn belt buckle. Giorno felt numb as he took some tissues from the cabinet, using Gold Experience to heal the abrasions.
“Your neck is bruised.”
“The shoulders bruised too.”
“The nose and the cheek are going to be noticeable.”
“But it’ll all heal in time.”
“Thank you.”
“It sounds like that throat still hurts too. I’m gonna grab you some water,” Abbachio said, stepping out.
Bucciarati waited a moment before speaking, “You know, I never knew you had such an interesting birthmark.”
“From my father.”
“Would you mind if I saw that picture of him?”
“Sure,” he said, grabbing out his wallet and handing it to Bucciarati, “this is the only image I have of him.”
“I can see the family resemblance. He has the same birthmark. I wonder what this line on his neck is.”
“I don’t know. My mother never told me anything about him, except that he was perfect.”
“No one is perfect.”
“She thought he was. They wanted me to be perfect. I was supposed to be perfect. Obviously I failed.”
“You didn’t fail. Nobody here expects you to be perfect. The things that those visions said, the things it looked like I said, none of it was real. I’ve never thought anything like that.”
“The stand knew what would hurt me most. All of the doubts I’ve ever had, and who it would hurt most to hear it from. I don’t doubt you, Bucciarati.”
The two looked at each other with small, understanding smiles as Giorno put his shirt back on. Abbachio opened the door, bringing in a glass of water. Handing the water to Giorno he said, “They’re asking a lot of questions down there. I doubt they’re gonna let up.”
“They don’t have to know anything.”
“They’d probably find out eventually. I’d just rather not go into specifics, this whole experience has been humiliating enough.”
Abbachio brought a hand to rest on his head, “Look on the bright side, kid. For now, you’re on my good side.”
Giorno chuckled, batting his hand away. His hair had been messed up a while ago, but he didn’t want to look completely out of sorts in front of the others. Brushing his hands through his hair, he stood from the bed. Bucciarati stood as well, moving to the door.
“Should I tell everyone to meet in the living room?” The man asked.
Giorno nodded, looking at the floor. He was trying to put on his usual mask of indifference, but as his fingers ran through his hair it was obvious it wasn’t working. Abbachio walked to his dresser, grabbing a comb. He grabbed Giorno’s hands until he let go of the blond hair, he started combing through it properly.
“You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to. If you need anything, or if it’s too much just tell me. I’m pretty sure none of those dumbasses know Japanese, so you can just use that.”
“Why are you being so nice? I thought you didn’t like me, you don’t have to be nice just because you know I had a shitty childhood.”
“Listen, I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t like you that much. But that’s because I thought you were some pompous brat who thought he was better than us. Seeing that made me realize I was wrong about that. So we’re good now. I’m being nice because that was a lot of shit to go through in one night, and I’d do the same for anyone in this house.”
“... Thanks, Abbachio.”
“Don’t mention it, lets head down before they storm the room.”
Giorno nodded, moving to the door, Abbachio followed. He opened the door for him, seeing his hesitation. As they approached the room everyone was waiting in they could hear Bucciarati trying to quiet the rest down. When Giorno walked into the doorway everyone went quiet. Looking at him. He walked towards the empty chair near Bucciarati, sitting down stiffly.
The entire room felt stifling, he found it hard to breath. Abbachio moved to stand next to him as he took a minute to think of what to say, he felt all of their stares crushing in on him.
“D’Alto had a stand that we didn’t know about. Abbachio managed to kill him but not before his stand managed to activate its power. It made all three of us watch some of my most painful memories, physically affecting me in the same way I was hurt then. The mission was accomplished, there’s no need to worry, it just brought up things that I would have rather left forgotten.”
He spoke in a voice as monotone as he could manage, it would be useless to get choked up over this, he told himself. But his throat burned with every word, giving his voice a raw and painful croak. He could see by their faces, the sound of his voice alone concerned them.
“Wait but...” Narancia said hesitantly, “Can’t you just heal yourself?”
“I’ve already healed any cuts I obtained. But bruises and soreness are more difficult, especially in my throat.”
“Oooooh, I see. I hope you get feeling better soon.”
“Thank you, Narancia. I’m confident I will.”
“Wait,” came Mista’s voice, “what kind of memories did it show? Just memories of you getting hurt? Cuz you’ve been through a hell of a lot worse since you joined us.”
“It was memories meant to emotionally incapacitate me. The physical pain just substantiated it.”
“Emotional? Like what?”
“... Well-“
Abbachio’s voice came from his side, “It’s not your business if he doesn’t want to talk about it, stop interrogating him.”
Fugo raised an eyebrow, “Giorno is entitled to keep his past a secret, we all do at least in some way, though it does concern me that it was bad enough for you to jump to his defense, Abbachio. You don’t have to explain yourself to us Giorno, but we’re here if you need us.”
“Shit, sorry, I didn’t think about that.”
“It’s alright, Mista. Thank you for your support, Fugo. As I’ve already said, there’s nothing to worry about now, I’ll have some bruising but I’m sure that will pass quickly enough.”
“I think you’ve got a black eye,” Trish spoke up, looking down at her lap once she had said it.
Giorno brought a hand up to his face, applying slight pressure to where he had been punched. He felt a quick, throbbing pain.
“It appears I do. It will probably be visible for the next few days, unfortunately.”
Thankfully he had makeup that he could cover it up with, though his cheek was still somewhat swollen. Then Bucciarati stood, taking a place on the other side of Giorno before he spoke,
“We should let Giorno rest now, I’m sure he’s exhausted.”
Everyone around the room gave a nod, they stared at Giorno as he stood. He walked out, flanked by Abbachio and Bucciarati, as stoically as he could manage. He really was tired after everything that’s happened. They walked him to his room, as they began to walk out they turned to look at him.
“Whatever happened to your parents anyway?” Abbachio asked.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, or don’t know.”
Giorno shook his head, “It’s okay. I looked into it, briefly, they filed a report. Saying I committed suicide. They never bothered changing my name on the records, and I only started going by Giovanna after I left. Officially? Haruno Shiobana is dead.”
“Jesus kid, they really are shit,” Abbachio said
He shrugged, “I think it’s easier that way. I don’t intend to see them again, and now I know they won’t be looking for me.”
Bucciarati slowly nodded, it was sad to see Giorno had such a troubled past and that he had such reason to be glad to never see his parents, but he was glad to see that he managed to come out of it. That he had managed to find a home with them.
“They were fools in every sense of the word, for not realizing what a great kid they had. No one in this house is that foolish.”
Giorno laughed, “Thanks, Bucciarati. I appreciate that.”
The door closed behind them, leaving Giorno to go to sleep. Abbachio leaned towards the other man, whispering,
“So we’re going to track down his shitty parents and kill them, right?”
“Already ahead of you, I want you to track down that death certificate, see who signed it so we can find out where they live,” he said in his voice reserved for Passione business. Cold, and calculated.
Abbachio smirked, “Of course, I’ll have it by tomorrow morning.”