Chapter Text
As Giorno Giovanna carries Mista to the Colosseum, he realizes how stupid he is for not healing Mista´s wounds first. But he´s 15 years old and has been thrust into a suicide mission not even a week into the job. If they survive this, which is starting to become less likely, Giorno will have to sit down and finally have that pizza magharita he´s been craving since notorious B.I.G. But again, only if. For now, they need to get to the Colosseum, heal up Mista and face Diavolo to end this nightmare. Either through victory or death.
Death.
Giorno thought back to Abbachio, his body limp with a giant hole in his torso. Then flashes of Bucciarati with his deterioriting state. A bitter taste rises in his mouth and he feels the shivers start. He ignores them, ignores the emotions he so lovingly dubbed as Haruno coming back to haunt him. But Haruno Shiobana was dead and if he wasn´t, well then this week surely did kill him.
The streets of Roma were empty, no one would be stupid enough to get out on the streets after witnessing what happend due to Ciococalata and Secco.
Secco...
Bucciarati....
Giorno swallowed again.
He could see the Colosseum, their agreed upon rendezvous point. If they could only get there-
Purple mist emits from the shadows of the streets. Glittery purple mist that spread like a warning of what to come. Giorno sees it, the figure at the end of the street, and he already knows who awaits him but he wishes it away. It can´t be, he would never, he tries to convince himself. A streetlamp shines upon the figure as it steps through the streets with footfall that seems chained down by the weight of what it´s owner is about to do. White hair, maroon hole covered suit, face down towards the pavement. Giorno thinks back to a pain he never wanted to experience again, thinks back to Pompeii. Is this how Jesus felt as he watched Judas? Did he know, deep down who had betrayed him? Just like Giorno does now?
Mista looks up and his eyes catch on the figure down the street. His face circles through everything he felt. Shock, betrayal, hurt, anger, grief. He just looks, just as dumbfounded as the blonde next to him as he watches a man- no, a boy- he had considered his brother approach them. All three of them stop, meters of distance between them. The purple mist envelopes them and for a second, Giorno wishes he could hide in it, and never face what stood between them and the Colosseum. Mista doesn´t speak, neither does the figure. It´s Giorno, with as much of stoicism he can muster, who utters the name.
"Fugo."
The boy in question, Pannacotta Fugo, didn´t look up from staring holes into the pavement that match the suit he wore. His jaw was set, face tight as he thought about what he is doing and who is in front of him. As he tries to remember how he ended up here, he is reminded of the bitter absurdity of it all. He wants to laugh and cry at the same time at the fact that he was only here due to circumstances, pure coincidences that have changed his life to the point that he has nothing to go back to. He had thought to have reached that point before, while sitting in the interrogation room three years ago, handcuffed to the table and staring at the blood splatter on his shirt cuffs. He had thought a lot during that time and after. How a singular man´s sick and twisted desires ruined him and any attempt at a normal life, It had been his fault, he had been told. That he shouldn´t have lingered that close, shouldn´t have agreed to be shown a rare edition of his favorite book that he mentioned in passing once. But he was only 13 and even a genius can be fooled. Not that it mattered since in the end, Pannacotta Fugo would always be at the mercy of circumstance.
And circumstance hasn´t been reliable lately.
Giorno observed the white haired boy, watching for any signs that Fugo would attack. When he didn´t see any, he took the time to remove Mista´s arm from his shoulder and push the gunslinger away. The man in question, utterly confused, looks up at Giorno, only to see the boy´s blue eyes fixated on Fugo. Giorno´s face was stoic, showing no sign of wavering. If only MIsta knew that Giorno had to clench his hands to the point of pain to not show the shaking they are subjected to.
"Get to the Colosseum." the 15 year old spoke.
"But Giorno-"
"I can handle this. Im immune, remember? One of us should get to the Colosseum."
"But-"
"Mista."
The gunslinger froze as he heard the slight waver in Giorno´s voice. Contary to popular belief, Giorno Giovanna actually had feelings and desires besides his dream. Even if his dream is the only reason he is standing here (That and the man who had shown kindness to a child most already believed to be destined to become the scum under people shoes.). One of these desires was to live, even if his reckless behaviour might convince you otherwise. And if Giorno felt he could be honest with himself, then he would admit that he was scared shitless of facing Fugo and even more of facing Diavolo. But Giorno Giovanna is also a stubborn bastard, as Abbachio would say (Giorno couldn´t speak of him in the past yet,not when he had still been alive a few hours ago), and thus didn´t admit that and instead sent Mista away. He really was serious about one of them reaching the Colosseum, he is just sure that he won´t be the one. Mista grits his teeth, already commiting both Fugo´s and Giorno´s face to memory, sure that he would never see either outside of a coffin again. Then he takes off through a side alley to the Colosseum, leaving Giorno and Fugo alone to face one another.
With a heavy heart, both boys step forward. Only a few days prior, they had only just met. Fugo remembers believing Giorno to be a total pushover who had no idea what he was getting into. While all that Giorno remembered was thinking how weird Fugo looked licking his lip where it was nicked by Narancia. And now, they would be forced to fight it out to the death. Because Giorno could not abandon his dream now and Fugo had nowhere to return to. Fugo finally managed to raise his head and immediately felt like he was going to vomit. His grip on Purple Haze was already slipping and he was sure if the stand got out now, it would lose it´s shit and go ballistic. His heart pounds in his chest, every step feeling like pressing the wrong key while playing a diffcult piano piece, making Fugo almost cringe.
Giorno took a deep breath and summoned Golden Experience. He felt the familiar, warm, feeling of the life-giving stand and thought briefly of how Fugo must feel with the death-reaping Purple Haze by his side. He shook the thought away, determined to not make this harder on himself than it already was. He looked at Fugo, his blue eyes finally catching the red of the other boy and spoke, his voice so cold and full of grief that he almost surprised himself.
"You should´ve gotten on that boat, Fugo."
As Fugo saw Giorno launch to attack, he knew that he agreed with the blonde. He should´ve gotten on that boat, but he didn´t. So like Judas, he resigns to his fate and goes to kiss his Jesus, the one he had betrayed.