Archive of Our Own

After spearheading a coup and bringing three people who had come to mean a lot to him, and who he knew would end up meaning so much more, back to life with Gold’s new, terrifying, abilities Giorno expected a lot to happen. Both good and bad. From exhaustion to joy to relief to the seemingly never ending work of running a mafia, he had been prepared for any and everything to happen in the weeks that followed. Everything, except for the sudden, unbearable, unexplainable spikes of pain. 

 The first time it happened they were still in Rome and Giorno barely paid it any mind. The last time he had been awake, as reviving people apparently makes him take an involuntary nap, had been nothing but never ending fights, body exchanges, death and rebirth. Of course his body was exhausted and strained and aching from everything that had happened. Even with his overworked forced slumber. The severe pain was just a side effect, and one he was more than happy to brush aside in favor of making sure that everyone else was alright. Safe, content and in one piece. Especially Bucciarati, Abbacchio and Narancia. 

When it happened again a week later as he was sifting through the never ending piles of information they found in just one of Diavolo’s properties, his eyes widened and hand moved to press against his thigh, curiously prodding at it both with his hand and Gold Experience. He felt nothing with either and frowned down at his leg in confusion.

“Giorno?” Bucciarati asked, his brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. Just a sudden cramp.” he assured him, though he had never had any cramp be that painful, he couldn’t think of what else it could have been.

He nodded and set aside the stack of papers in his hands. “We have been at this a while, why don’t we find the others and go get lunch? Stretch our legs a bit.”

With a glance around the mess surrounding them, Giorno nodded. He had never been good at sitting still, and apparently his body was happy to remind him of that fact. Getting up and moving was likely all he needed. 

Except, those cramps, or whatever it was they were, didn’t stop. Nor were they localized to just his thigh. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to where they struck. From under his cheekbones to above his knee, it was like someone had decided to use him as a pincushion. 

Briefly, he had entertained the idea that maybe it was some sort of stand attack. Someone with a long range stand perhaps, as Gold could never feel any unaccounted for life forms around them. But after the pains continued for weeks, even after he had publicly claimed control of Passione, he had to reason that it was doubtful. Had it been an enemy, they would have likely tried to take him out before he had any true claim of power. 

A relief, because it meant someone hadn’t been trying to harm or kill him for weeks and he didn’t have to tell his team about it. But, with it not being a stand attack, Giorno really couldn’t think of what if possibly could be. It was incredibly similar to the aches he got in his arm, eye and throat from the injuries Gold had had to heal back in April, but he had never been injured like this and didn’t know why he would possibly be feeling something so intensely painful. 

That is, until he overheard a conversation between Abbacchio and Narancia. The two were in the living room one night as he was grabbing a midnight- 2am- snack in a silent and dark kitchen. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but their voices carried. 

“It's like, super sick looking dude! In the best way. An explosion almost.” Narancia was saying, voice awed and a tinge, sad?

“Well, a fist did explode through me.” Abbacchio replied dryly and Narancia made a hissing noise. 

“Yeah, don’t remind me! That was horrible.”

Ah, they must be talking about the scar Abbacchio had from his encounter with Diavolo’s stand. Giorno hadn’t seen it, but considering the damage he could imagine it was large and likely looked exactly like Narancia had said. 

“Does it hurt?” Narancia asked suddenly. 

“The scar itself is mostly numb.” Abbacchio replied. “But my spine and muscles can hurt, yes.”

“That sucks!”

“I’m alive.” he replied, as if that mattered more than the pain. A sentiment Giorno was relieved to hear him have. 

“True!” Narancia laughed. “And you better stay that way!”

“You too, kid.”

They were silent for a moment before Narancia spoke up to say, “I don’t have anything from dying. Probably cus this body never died, yeah? Like, I died in Giorno’s body so there’s no scar or reminder or anything. Just kind of feels like I took a weird nap and missed all the fun stuff.”

“Good.” Abbacchio said firmly, yet another sentiment Giorno was happy to hear and eager to agree with. 

“You think Giorno does?”

“I don’t know, ask him.”

“No way! That would be so weird! ‘Hey, do you have scars from when I totally died inside of you, and if so can I see them?’”

“Don’t say it like that, why do you keep saying it like that? And you don’t need to ask to see them!”

“But I would totally want to! Scars are cool, man! And I can’t like, be asking my boss to see his scars! Especially cus Mista said I was super totally impaled everywhere. So he’d have to take his clothes off!”

“Golden brat is your friend too.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to take his pants off!”

Giorno ducked away from the kitchen then, both not wanting to hear any more and because he had been struck but a sudden realization. Those pains had been phantom pains, just not his. 

When he reached his room, he shut and locked the door and then tossed his clothes off of his body in order to stand in front of the full length mirror to study himself, eyes searching for scar tissue he had never paid any mind to before. Never had thought about or wanted to see, now though, it was all he could think about and he had to know if it was there. 

Now that he was looking, he couldn’t unsee it. In fact, it felt so obvious he felt stupid for not having seen it before.  Around the eye he had to replace, his skin was more pink and shiny than his regular incredibly pale tone. Barely, but enough that he could see it. There was a pale white line across his throat that when he tilted his head, became very, very clear. A similar line crossed over his foot. When he raised both arms, the only scars he had truly noticed were so bright and obvious they practically shone. One, patterned like a zipper where Bucciarati had reattached the hand Trish had saved after B.I.G and the other a smoother, slightly paler mark where he had attached the other. 

Lowering his arms, he leaned forward to look closely at his body and realized that, yes, he was littered in scar tissue he just hadn’t paid any mind to in the last couple months. Something he would have been disgusted with himself for if he ever paid attention to his body, but between the scars he already had and the parts of it he hated, Giorno has always been happy to remain ignorant and wrap his body in pretty clothes to pretend that everything beneath them didn’t exist. Still, had he paid attention to himself he wouldn’t have needed to eavesdrop to realize what had been happening to him. 

Because written across his skin in shiny pink scar tissue was his answer. In every single part of his body he had been feeling the excruciating pain was a scar. Round, pink with white edges that blended in with his skin seamlessly. When he ran his fingers over them, they felt like the surrounding skin. Especially the ones on each of his cheeks, the palest ones that only really showed up when he tilted his head just right. The darkest one, one right above his left nipple, was the roughest but he still wasn’t surprised he hadn’t discovered it naturally. He made an especially large effort to not touch his chest and back. 

Giorno didn’t even bother trying to see if the scars were reflected on his back as well. There would be no point, as they would have just faded into the mess that was already there. And, really, he didn’t want to actually look at any of these. He just wanted to confirm whether or not they were there. 

Seeing the round scars scattered across his body should have made him feel clarity, and clarity alone. Now, he knew why he was getting those pains. Question answered. Unfortunately, his mind was a traitor and decided to torture him, because instead of accepting the answer and moving on, he was filled with horror and guilt. 

These marks had killed Narancia. Looking at them, of course they had. Vital organs, arteries, important, important things that kept him alive had been punctured. No wonder he had already been gone by the time Giorno had tried to save him. He likely had died instantly. A horrifying realization, that his friend had been dead above his head for who knew how long before he had even realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

Even more horrifying though was that the proof was written across Giorno’s skin. Like Narancia said, he had no proof, nothing to show that he had died and come back. It was like Giorno had stolen it. Stolen his history, his survival. Stolen a part of him that he should have been allowed to have. To show off and say, I survived this!

The only consolation he had was that Giorno was the one who was feeling the pain, not Narancia. He never wanted Narancia to feel any pain, let alone something this bad. Especially not when it was Giorno’s fault he had suffered in the first place. The absolute least he could do was take the pain he never should have felt in the first place, while never, ever letting him know that he was. 

Keeping the pains from his team had been important from the start, but now knowing where they came from it was more than just pride and privacy that urged him to be silent. Now, he had a very good reason to keep it from everyone; protecting Narancia. The last thing he wanted was for him to be reminded of what happened to him more than he already was. After all, it couldn’t be a coincidence that it was Abbacchio and Narancia awake in the middle of the night, talking about scars. His friend was haunted by it enough, there was no way Giorno would add to it. Remaining silent and keeping the team ignorant of his pain wouldn’t be too hard, after all he had been doing so for months already. 

Or, so he thought. For some reason, understanding the pains had them suddenly ramping up in intensity. Giorno had a high pain tolerance, but suddenly they were becoming almost unbearable. His thigh cramped, shook and then went numb to the point he was unsure it could hold his weight. His chest would ache and burn so badly, he couldn’t breathe. His stomach and lower abdomen pulsed so intensely he lost his appetite. Not that it mattered, because the sharp pain in his jaw would be so bad he could barely get himself to open his mouth. They would cycle through in a horrible roulette of ‘who can bother Giorno the most’. But, they were manageable. He could handle them, and handle them without alerting his team. Well. Too much. 

Mista, his best friend and faithful bodyguard, was most likely to notice something. He was constantly at Giorno’s side after all, and it was hard to hide the way his breath would catch or his hand would press to his chest or how hard it was to stand from his desk sometimes. But, he never said anything, and instead just offered a steadying hand and caring smile. Something Giorno couldn’t be more grateful for. 

Bucciarati was the second most likely, and Giorno had no doubt that he had. They had separate offices, so he didn’t notice the day to day as much as Mista did, but everything else was beginning to earn him concerned side eyes. When he was too nauseous to eat and passed up meals with a light press to his abdomen. When his thigh hurt so bad he was unconsciously rubbing it as they discussed anything from tv shows to Passione strategy. And likely most telling; the couple times he had asked his second to run a meeting because moving his jaw made his eyes water and teeth ache. All of it was building up slowly and he knew it was only a matter of time before it all crashed down around him. 

Fugo, who had only been back with them for weeks, was starting to notice things too. Not too much of a surprise, really. He was incredibly intelligent, observant and spent a lot of time coming in and out of Giorno’s office. He knew that he had come in once when Giorno was leaning back in his chair, eyes tightly closed and hands pressing against his chest to helplessly try and dull the pain. Mista had fallen asleep on the couch, and he had thought he was in the clear. But he must not have heard the knock, because he was dropping his hands to Fugo clearing his throat. He never asked, and Giorno hoped he had just assumed he was taking a break or feeling a bit overwhelmed. 

Abbacchio, well, Giorno doubted he noticed anything. Or cared about whatever he did notice. He was no longer antagonistic, but nor was he super welcoming. Giorno barely talked to him, in fact, and the only times he did when it wasn’t Passione related the entire team was present. And he was very good at keeping things hidden when it was the entire team. 

Narancia, was the entire reason for it to remain secret, so he put extra effort into keeping it from him. Because he was not going to let him figure out anything at all concerning the pains. In fact, he was the only one Giorno was certain knew nothing because he had been very, very careful to seem perfectly fine around him. Even when the other boy gave him enthusiastic hugs on bad pain days, he hugged him back as he always would while gritting his teeth and begging his eyes to stay dry. Never before had he thought he would be thankful for his learned inability to cry, but for once it was actually coming in handy. 

So, he was certain that he could continue to convince his team, people he was starting to see as family, that he was fine. That there was nothing to worry about and there never would be. At least, he was, until one night he woke up in the early hours of the morning in the most pain he had ever felt in his life. 

The day before had been long, stressful and exhausting. From early morning meetings to dealing with an assasination attempt at said meetings to hunting the would be assassin’s accomplices down it had just been one thing after another. They had stumbled home past midnight and had all practically collapsed into their rooms for exhausted sleep. Giorno had planned to stay that way until at least nine, but apparently his body had different plans. 

He had been in a deep, exhausted sleep when sharp pain in his chest suddenly woke him. His eyes snapped open and he gasped, hands attempting to move towards his chest to press against the pain, but moving his arms had him whimpering and curling in on himself. Which in turn caused the pain in his abdomen and leg to flare. Hell, even his foot was aching. And his cheek. Eye. Throat. Even the decade old scars on his back were throbbing as if they had just been done the day before. He felt as if every single nerve ending in his body was on fire. Or being stabbed. Or being stabbed with something on fire. Whatever it was, it was white hot and excruciating. So much so that tears were running down his cheek and silent sobs were wracking his body. He hadn’t realized he could still produce tears, but apparently his body was so far past learned behavior to care. Hell, he couldn’t think, let alone move or give any mind to the salt water cascading down his aching cheeks.

In fact, it quickly became bad enough that Gold Experience burst from him, hands hovering uselessly above Giorno’s face. After a moment, he shimmered and shifted to Requiem, who looked at him with oddly pain filled eyes. 

“I cannot help.”

“I…know…, Gold.” he forced out through barely moving lips. “Is…k.”

“It is not okay. You need help.”

“Am…fine.”

“You are lying to me. And yourself.”

“Are…me.” he told him with as much of a glare as he could muster, which admittedly wasn’t a lot. 

“I am getting Bucciarati. You need help.”

“Gold, no!” 

He tried to lurch forward and stop his stand, but all it did was cause him to shout out in pain at the movement and for his rude, traitorous stand to practically run, or the equivalent in terms of the flying thing Gold did, out of the room. 

He groaned and buried his face in his pillow. The last thing he wanted to do was bother Bucciarati. Especially not in the middle of the night only hours after he had fallen asleep following a day of having to keep Giorno alive. It wasn’t fair to him, and unfortunately he knew that Gold wasn’t going to take no for an answer. The bastard.

He clearly hadn’t,  because minutes later he floated back into the room, a zipper in the wall appearing as Bucciarati followed, clad in only far too long purple sweatpants and a t-shirt with a smiling cherry on it. The worry across his face was the most prominent thing about him though, the look so apparent it was visible even in Giorno’s dimly lit bedroom.

“Giorno, Gold Experience says you need help?”

“‘M’fine, Bucc’rati.” he mumbled into his pillow, peeking at him through his bangs. “Go sleep.”

“He is lying.” Gold said, like the traitor he is. 

“What's going on?” he asked, crossing the room to sit against the edge of Giorno’s bed. “Are you sick?”

“....maybe.” he replied, not wanting to lie but hoping that Bucciarati would just accept that as the explanation. 

He shifted, his long fingers reaching over to brush Giorno’s bangs out of the way and gently touch his face. “You don’t feel feverish, but clammy and sweaty. It could be a bug, I suppose.”

“It is not. He is in pain.” Gold told him and Giorno really, really, really wanted to toss his own stand out of the window. He could float, fly whatever it was he did. He’d be fine. 

“Pain!?” Bucciarati gasped. “Giorno, did you get hurt yesterday? What happened, why didn’t you say anything?!”

“I didn’t!” he assured him, trying to sit up, but wincing sharply and falling right back down. 

Bucciarati settled him gently, one hand resting in between his shoulders and the other running through his hair. “What’s going on, Giorno? What happened?”

Pathetically, the only response he could give was a small whine. Which had Bucciarati rubbing his shoulder and Gold speaking up once more.

“Phantom pains, history pains.” he explained. “Nothing new.”

“What from?” Bucciarati asked, because of course he wouldn’t be willing to leave it at that. 

“Past injuries. Baby Face. B.I.G.” Gold answered and then after a brief hesitation added, “Narancia’s death.”

Bucciarati gasped, brushing Giorno’s hair away again in order to try and meet his hazy, pain filled eyes. “Oh, Giorno. How long has this been going on?”

He sighed and replied weakly, “Rome.”

“Since Rome! Why didn’t you tell us? We could have been helping you!”

“Can’t. Need to, to handle on my own.” he replied when he felt he could say more. Though it came out practically panting and nearly as slurred as everything else he had been trying to say. 

“Shh, it's okay. It's okay, don’t try and talk. Gold can do it for you.” Bucciarati assured, fingers once more running through his hair. 

“He did not want to show a weakness. And did not want to upset Narancia.”

“Don’t be silly. We are your family, we are who you are supposed to be weak in front of.” he chided gently. “We want to help you, we love you.”

The first time Giorno ever heard those words directed towards him, and it came from a man who brought him into the Mafia while he was curled up in pain caused by a former mafia boss. It was, embarrassingly, enough for him to start crying again, body shaking as both physical and emotional pain overwhelmed him. 

“Oh, Giorno.” Bucciarati sighed softly. “It's okay, I promise. I’m here, let it out.”

“Hurts.” he whimpered. “Everything hurts.”

“Shh, I know. I know.” he stood, moving so that he could sit down and guide Giorno’s head to rest on his lap. “It's okay to hurt, Giorno. You went through so much, of course you are going to experience pain. But you don’t have to experience it alone.”

He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, he couldn’t bring himself to talk through the pain tearing through him. So, he just kept crying as Bucciarati ran his fingers through his hair and whispered soft words of comfort. It was what he had always imagined a mother’s touch to be, and he shouldn’t be surprised that it was coming from Bucciarati. Giorno had never met a more caring person in his life. 

Giorno also had never met someone who he wanted to disappoint less, and he couldn’t help but to think that crying like a baby over a little pain was certainly disappointing. So, when he felt he could get himself to speak, he was doing so to apologize. 

“I’m sorry. I, I’m fine. I can handle it.”

“Shh, Giorno, do not apologize. I am here to help you, please lean on me.”

“Shouldn’t need it.”

“Only because you shouldn’t have to be experiencing this at all.” Bucciarati cupped his cheeks and tilted his face to look up at him. “You’re only fifteen, and you have the world on your shoulders. You aren’t in any way expected to be perfect all the time, especially in the face of pain like this.”

“Sixteen.”

“What?”

He ducked his head and said, “I’m sixteen. Not fifteen.”

“What? When was your birthday?”

“Ah, April Sixteenth.”

Bucciarati was silent for a long moment before sighing. “We will address that later. For now, what is important is that you know there is nothing wrong with you coming to us for help. We all want to be there for you.”

“But, Narancia…!”

He gently touched Giorno’s lips to stop his argument and shook his head. “Would only want to help you too. Trust me. Why don’t you want him to know?”

“Don’t want him to have to think about what happened in April,” he admitted. “It's my fault he died, if I can keep the reminder of that from him I will.”

“Giorno, no! It is absolutely not your fault!”

He lowered his eyes away from Bucciarati’s shocked blue ones, but a gentle nudge of his chin had him looking back up. To his surprise, the older man’s expression was nothing but sadness and worry as he gently stroked Giorno’s cheek with his thumb. 

“Do you truly feel that? That his death is on you?”

“All of yours,” he admitted quietly. “You all died because of me.”

“No.” he said firmly. “We died because of Diavolo. We are alive because of you.”

“But..-”

“No, no buts. No disputes. Every single one of us is alive, because of you. I do not blame you, Leone does not blame you, and Narancia certainly does not blame you. In fact, he would be so mad to know that you have been suffering without anyone there to help you. I am mad that you have been suffering. Leone and I have been leaning on each other, and you have just been floundering. It stops, you hear me? Now.”

He nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do. Part of him wanted to cry again, but he was pretty sure he cried all the tears he had in his body. 

“Okay. Good. Now, what do you do to help when this happens?”

“Uhm…”

“Nothing.” Gold spoke up, alerting Giorno to the fact that he was still there. “He just works.”

“Go away, would you?” he huffed but Bucciarati shook his head. 

“No, Gold, thank you. I am glad that Giorno has at least had you to help him.”

Giorno sighed, and shot his stand a half frustrated look before nodding. “He’s right. I haven’t tried anything. Not really.”

“Okay. We’re going to get you some painkillers and a hot bath to start with. Then you’ll drink something warm and put a salve I have on what hurts, okay?”

“I can’t reach all of it.” he admitted quietly. 

“One of us will help,” he assured right away. “Stay here for now, okay, I’m going to get you meds and run the bath for you.”

He gave a small, slightly overwhelmed nod and Bucciarti smiled before shocking him by gently kissing his forehead. 

“I will be right back.”

When he was gone, Giorno turned to look at his stand who gave him a bland, unapologetic look. 

“I will not apologize.”

“I know. You did the right thing. Thank you.”

He nodded and then shifted into the non Requiem form and immediately darted over to hug Giorno gently. He accepted the embrace with ease, only letting him go and fade away when his door opened once more. 

It was Bucciarati, glass of water and pills in hand, which he handed to Giorno immediately. “Bath is ready. Let's get you settled in, yeah? I added salts and these soothing bubbles Leone really likes. They smell like lavender and should help sooth you.”

He took the pills and water, and said softly, “Thank you, Bucciarati. You didn’t have to go through all this for me.”

“Of course I did. You’re family. Now come on, I’ll help you up and into the bathroom.”

Giorno nodded and let Bucciarati help him to his feet. He stumbled when he tried to put wait on his throbbing leg, though, and Bucciarati gave him a concerned look. 

“May I wrap my arm around your waist? Just to steady you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, should be okay.” he said after a brief hesitation. “Just, not too much pressure.”

“Of course.” he agreed easily, carefully supporting him just enough that he could guide him towards the bathroom. Once there he asked, “Do you need any assistance?”

He very quickly shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for Bucciarati to see, well, everything. He could handle getting undressed. And anything he couldn’t manage, he had Gold for. 

After saying as such, just the part about being able to do it himself of course, Bucciarati nodded. “Alright. I will get some tea made, you soak as long as you need okay?”

“Okay.” he nodded and then after only a small hesitation added, “Thank you, Bucciarati. For all of this.”

“Always, Giorno. Whenever and whatever you need, I’m here.” 

He gave Giorno a kind smile and left him leaning against the bathtub rim. As soon as the door shut behind him, he carefully shrugged off his clothes and tried to step into the tub, wincing when he couldn’t lift his leg high enough to do so. After three, frustrating, tries he sucked up his withering pride and summoned Gold so that his stand could lift his leg, and most of him, up and into the tub. 

Despite the difficulties getting in, as soon as he sunk into the warm, bubbly water a relieved, exhausted sigh left him. For the first time since he woke up, who knew how long ago, he felt like he could actually breathe. The pain wasn’t gone, but between the pills and the warmth surrounding him it was no longer burning his brain like an iron brand. 

“Why have I never tried this before.” he bemoaned to himself and Gold gave him a pointed look that he chose to ignore. 

“I’m okay. You don’t need to stand guard.”

His stand hesitated before nodding and vanishing. With his golden glow gone, the bathroom was now lit by soft lamps. A fact that had Giorno even more grateful towards Bucciarati, because he doubted he could handle the bright overhead lights at that moment. 

Really, he was thankful for Bucciarati for, well, everything. For coming when Gold asked, for supporting him, for listening, for telling him he wasn’t weak, or really, that it was okay to be weak. But, mostly, just for being willing to do any of it. Giorno had never had anyone willing to help him, to take care of him. It felt almost, wrong, to have someone now but at that moment he wasn’t going to refuse it. Wasn’t going to question it. Bucciarati was offering care and support, and Giorno couldn’t bring himself to deny it. Not when he knew he couldn’t handle things on his own. 

Hell, he so obviously couldn’t that his own soul was going against his wishes. He really, really hadn’t wanted Gold to disturb Bucciarati, and had wanted even less for him to tell him the truth. Now that he had, though, he couldn’t help but be a little thankful. Without Gold’s interference, he’d likely still be curled up in a fetal ball sobbing. He probably would have stayed that way until someone came looking for him when he didn’t come down for breakfast. If that had happened, he’d have had the entire team knowing what a mess he was, not just Bucciarati. He could handle one person knowing, but all five, six if he counted Trish? No, nope. This was fine. Bucciarati was more than enough. 

Despite Bucciarati claiming otherwise, he couldn’t help but think that the rest of the team would be disappointed or even disgusted by seeing him like this. What sort of leader was he if a little bit of pain flattened him out so severely? How could he expect them to respect him or follow him if he was weak? How would Narancia feel, knowing that Giorno was carrying his death with him so viscerally? None of them were questions he wanted answered, and he supposed he should be grateful for Gold making sure that he wouldn’t have to face them. 

Or, so he thought. Because only a few minutes into his bath, the door was creaking open to reveal Narancia’s face peering through the cracks. His expression was questioning and worried, but the only thing Giorno cared about was the fact that he was coming into the bathroom while he was naked. Naked and not fully covered. 

With a startled yelp, he slumped down into the bubbles so that their frothy white cover was up to his chin, staring at the other boy with wide eyed alarm. 

“Narancia! What, what are you doing, I’m naked in here!”

“Awe, Giorno, it's alright! I literally died inside of you, remember?”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Please, please stop saying it like that.” he implored and then froze. “Wait, you know about… and didn’t say anything?”

“Of course not!” he gasped. “I ain’t no snitch, Giogio, and I’m certainly not gonna out you! No one’s business but yours what your body looks like! Just, know that I’ve got some idea and you don’t hafta hide from me. Yeah?”

Giorno stared at him for a long moment before sighing and sitting up more comfortably, the bubbles now coming up to his sternum. “Thank you, Narancia.”

“No reason to thank me.” he said, plopping down on the rug by the tub, legs crossed under him. “I should be thanking you.”

He frowned. “What for?”

“For being badass, duh!” He exclaimed. “Bruno wouldn’t tell me everything, but I asked if you were alright and he said you were having bad pains, kinda like the ones he and Abba get occasionally. I may be stupid, but I’m not stupid enough to not know what that means.”

“Don’t call yourself stupid.” Giorno replied immediately, leaning up to look down at him sharply. “You are not stupid.”

“Awe, Gio, you’re the sweetest.” He grinned at him for a moment before his expression turned serious again. “Really, though. You’re getting those phantom pain things from when the old Boss killed me, aren’t you?”

Giorno sighed and lifted his hand to press against the scar on his chest. “I am. I didn’t want you to find out.”

“Why the hell not?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and filled with a cross between surprise and hurt.

“Because I didn’t want you to have to relive it. To think about it at all. I just, I want you to be happy and safe and I thought keeping it from you would help you stay that way.”

Narancia stared at him for a long time and then scooted closer, holding his hand out towards Giorno’s. “Can I?”

Confused, he nodded and handed it over, watching as Narancia held his hand with one of his and put the other over the scar along his forearm. He squeezed with both hands and then lifted his violet eyes to meet Giorno’s. 

“Giogio, you sacrifice yourself for us way too much. You cut off your arms for us, you get infected with deadly viruses and molds and shit for us. Hell, you exhausted yourself to the point of passing out for days just to bring us back to life! You’re not allowed to suffer alone for us, also. Hell, you shouldn’t suffer for us at all, let alone by yourself! Not for any of us, but especially not me! Okay? Cus, I don’t like it when people I love are hurtin’ and I can’t help. And the only reason I haven’t been able to help you is I didn’t know you needed help! You get me?”

He blinked back moisture that was suddenly in his eyes and squeezed Narancia’s hand. “I’m not sure how to rely on people,” he admitted. “I’ve never had anyone to rely on to learn how.”

“Well, you do now!” he said firmly. “All of us, man. We’re all here for you. Bruno is like, the most nurturing person ever and Mista is super the same! Abba is good at distractions and Fugo is great at assurances and reminders and shit. Not totally sure ‘bout Trish yet, but I’m sure whenever she’s here she’d be happy to help too! And, well, you gotta know I’m here for you, Gio. In anyway. Hugs, talkin’, playing video games. Anything! Okay?”

He gave a small nod, and Narancia beamed. “Good! And, also, don’t worry about reminding me about what happened in the colosseum. It was so fast, I barely remember any of it. I’ve got like, the smallest memory of being sad and worrying about you guys, and then woke up from a long weird nap. Sometimes, I can kinda remember this sharp pain in my chest, but if I do something else and get my mind off it, it's gone. And, I don’t want you to have to go through something like that at all, let alone by yourself. So, from now on, you gotta come to me. Please.”

“You want to know that bad?” he asked softly and Narancia was instantly nodding. 

“Course I do!”

Giorno studied him for a long moment, looking for any sort of insincerity or deceit, but his expression was open and honest. He meant every word. He wanted Giorno to bring this pain, this reminder to him. He was upset that Giorno hadn’t, that he had been hurting. It was almost too much for him to handle and he couldn’t help but sniffle wetly. 

“If I wasn’t naked and wet, I’d hug you.” he admitted and Narancia laughed. 

“Awe, Gio, I don’t mind if you don’t!”

To Giorno’s surprise, he didn’t mind at all, so he sat up a bit and pulled Narancia forward in order to wrap his arms around his neck. The other boy returned the gesture with ease, but kept his grip over Giorno’s shoulder’s light. 

“Thank you.” Giorno whispered into his ear and felt him nod immediately. 

“Of course, Giogio!”

They held each other for a bit until Narancia asked, a little grin in his voice, “So, can I see the scars?”

He laughed and leaned away to meet his eyes. “I, ah, I have more than just the ones from Rome. And they’re unsightly.”

“Psha, Gio, you’re like, the prettiest person on the planet. Nothing on you is unsightly, which I’m guessing is supposed to mean ugly. Scars are badass, man. They show you survived!”

“Prettiest person?”

Narancia’s cheeks turned red and he huffed. “Okay, that's so weird for me to say when you’re like, literally naked in front of me but I don’t mean it in a weird way! I just, I’d never judge you. All any scars you have will make me think is that you’re even more of a badass and strong person than I already think.”

He smiled softly and nodded. “Alright. Yeah, help me out and I’ll show you. Feel like you deserve to know what happened to you, after all. But let me put a towel on first!”

“Of course!” he agreed easily, clamoring to his feet and picking up one of Giorno’s big fluffy pink towels. “Wait, you don’t need to wash your hair or anything, do you?”

Giorno chuckled and shook his head. “No, thank you though. This was just to try and relax my muscles.”

“They relaxed?”

“As much as they’re going to get, yes. Besides, the water is starting to cool.”

“Alright! Let's get you out then!”

Carefully, Giorno pushed himself up, though he quickly started to shake and had to have Narancia steady him. Without looking down, he helped him wrap a towel around his waist and then lifted him up from the tub, earning a startled yelp from Giorno. 

“You didn’t have to pick me up!”

“You were favoring your leg!” he said, carrying him over to the vanity chair and setting him down carefully. “I didn’t want you to fall!”

He huffed but didn’t argue, just settled carefully on the chair and accepted the other towel Narancia handed him to dry off with. “One of the worst scars is on my thigh.” he explained, shifting the towel so Narancia could see it. 

With a furrowed brow, he knelt down so he could hover his hand over the dark mark. “Damn. How many of these are there?”

“That one, two on my lower abdomen, one near my stomach, one near my chest and the one on my cheeks.”

“Your cheeks!”

“Yeah. They’re really pale, though. Only really visible in bright light. I make sure they stay that way with makeup.”

“Fuck, Gio…”

He shifted and reached over to grab Narancia’s hand. “It was, it was terrifying when you died, Nara. We were all standing right there and no one noticed anything until your blood was falling on us. These wounds, they would have killed you immediately and every time I feel the pain from them, every time I look at them, I’m reminded of the fact that I failed you. That, that you died and I didn’t notice. That you were gone, and there was nothing I could do. That I fixed my body up and begged and pleaded but you were still just. Gone. And it was all my fault.”

“Hey, Giorno, no!” he squeezed his hands with both of his, head shaking so vehemently that his shaggy locks flopped around his face. “It so was not! Don’t think that! It was no one's fault but the guy who thought I’d make a good shish kabob, which I dont by the way, way too stringy.”

“Really, Narancia?”

He laughed and shrugged. “Really! Look at me! Not good kabob ingredients!” he frowned and reached over to touch one of the scars on Giorno’s stomach with a very light touch. “Neither are you. I bet it was like, super hard also cus you were seeing yourself like that. Couldn’t have been a fun thing to see.”

“I could care less about that, Nara, I cared because it was you . You were the one gone, you were the one we lost because I didn’t notice Diavolo was there.”

“You blame yourself way too much, Gio. You can’t control or change everything, not even now with Requiem. Sometimes, things just happen. And they suck and they hurt, but blaming yourself isn’t gonna make it better. Neither is not caring about yourself cus you think you deserve it. You don’t. I heard somewhere, probably from Fugo that's where I hear all the smart things I know, that death is hard not on the person dying, but the ones left behind. Cus, like, the ones dying either don’t know they're dead or they move on or whatever. But the ones left, they have to keep going. They have to remember and grieve and sometimes blame themselves, even if it totally isn’t their fault. . And I think it's true. Cus, I think us dying hurt you more than it hurt us. I know Abba dying destroyed me, and sometimes I need a reminder he is still here. Do you need that too?”

Giorno sniffed, willing the tears to stay in his eyes and leaned forward to rest his cheek against the top of Narancia’s head. “You are incredibly smart, Narancia. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He chuckled and reached a hand up to rest it lightly on the back of Giorno’s head. “I’m here, Giorno. You’re a badass and you saved me, and I’m here. And I’ll remind you every single time you need me to.”

With a hiccuping sob, he shifted off of the chair to kneel beside him, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in his shoulder. He didn’t care at all that he was only wearing towels, or that Narancia could likely see the scars littering his lower back where the top one rode up. It didn’t matter, because he was alive and there to see them, and somehow, knew exactly what Giorno needed without Giorno knowing himself. The pain wasn’t gone, of course, but for the first time in months he felt like he could truly handle it, and he knew it was because he was no longer alone in doing so. He had Bucciarati. Narancia. His family.