Chapter Text
Naples, Italy. December 31, 2002. Two in the morning.
It wasn't where Jotaro imagined himself at the turn of the year. The U.S. had been his plan. For a couple of days, anyway. This time, he might have actually walked through the front door, as opposed to standing on the step with an apology in hand instead of the Christmas gifts he owed. Or maybe he would've slunk off to his grandparents' apartment in New York and wandered around the empty rooms in a fruitless attempt to ease his ailing spirit. Joseph, Susie Q and Shizuka had gone to Japan to be with his mother and Josuke for the holiday season. He certainly preferred here to there. Even if he insisted on their silence, the same accusing questions would've poured out from their eyes.
Where is your daughter? Why don't we see her anymore? Why don't you visit her?
No, Naples wasn't the U.S., nor was it Japan, but it was a hell of a lot better than dealing with either. Work was better. Even if family was involved.
Just as his blood ties kept Jotaro from Japan, it was a DNA connection that had shifted him from the freezing plains of America to the mild cool of Naples. There was no snow to be found across the city's stone-paved streets, but instead a drizzle that painted streaks around the lamplight before seeping into his jacket. Some part of him considered that showing up half-soaked was unbecoming, given who he was meeting. He could've avoided it too, if he'd taken the cab all the way to his destination.
He shook the thought away. Worrying about that would do nothing more than start a pointless stream of what-ifs: he was always going to leave the cab early. He needed a walk with fresh air and proper time to himself, not those minuscule pauses he grabbed with Star Platinum's aid. Time to push aside the holiday blues, to steel himself for what he was about to witness. To come up with the answers people wanted him to have. Unfortunately for Jotaro, the last miracle he'd seen was in 1999, and any hope for another was shortly dashed—he arrived at his destination without a single goal accounted for.
The mansion, located in the built-up area near the city's centre, was conspicuous to say the least. Its entrance was marked by stone walls that reached well above Jotaro's head and equally tall iron gates with an intricate emblem bent into their middle. He recognised the symbol as the famous Passione's. Beyond the gates sat the mansion proper. Its three-storey structure was covered in large windows of white arches across its walls, with grey columns framing the ground floor. There were no lights to be seen in any of the windows, but he'd been told to expect that—they'd all been covered for the obvious reason.
On one hand, it was normal for a wealthy group like Passione to own such a lavish abode. On the other, he'd imagined a criminal gang being a touch less obvious about their base of operations. This brazen display showed confidence. Overconfidence? Well, these were stand users. It was far too early to say.
An intercom box sat on a wall beside the iron gates. Jotaro pushed his finger against its button, half-expecting the object to be a stand for testing outsiders. Thankfully, the box buzzed without biting his finger or shapeshifting into something otherworldly. Within seconds, a female voice came from the speaker. It was a fast response given the time of night. They must have been anxiously awaiting his arrival.
"Who is this?" The voice was high and young. Jotaro bent down so the intercom's camera could view his face rather than his torso.
"Jotaro Kujo. Here on Polnareff's request."
"Hold on."
The intercom's buzzing clicked off. Beyond the gates, the main door of the mansion opened. Even at a distance, Jotaro could spy the golden light flooding out from the entrance and silhouetting a short figure. The same individual propped an umbrella above their head and began to traipse down the stone driveway between the gate and the mansion. As they grew closer, it became apparent that this was a teenage girl. Not that age meant anything when it came to stand users. The girl—on the shorter side, with long hair and light-looking clothes despite the chill—was regarding Jotaro with the same suspicion he shot her.
"Show me your stand," she demanded when she reached the gate.
"What?" He mirrored her lack of decorum. She pushed one hand to a hip and tapped her foot impatiently.
"You're a stand specialist, aren't you? Then surely you've seen at least one that can disguise its user. I'm not going to risk letting a stranger in. Prove you're really Jotaro Kujo by showing me Star Platinum."
Stand specialist? What did you tell these people, Polnareff? But although annoying, she was correct.
"How do you know what Star Platinum looks like?"
"Signor Polnareff described it."
Knowing Polnareff, he very well could have described it completely wrong. Other than that, Jotaro didn't see any risk in doing as she'd asked (stand users worldwide seemed to already know about Star Platinum and its abilities). With no further hesitation, he willed his stand to appear beside him. The being's translucent form hovered above the girl and met her gaze with its usual impassive glare.
"Fine," she shrugged, shoving her hand into a pocket and pulling out a small controller. The gates swung back in her direction with one press. Jotaro withdrew Star Platinum and stepped through, towering over her small form. Despite the difference in their figures, she showed no concern. She beckoned him to follow and cast a judgemental eye as they headed to the mansion's door.
"Forgot an umbrella?" she asked dryly, nodding at his soaked jacket. He kept his mouth shut; his time in Morioh had wisened him to the whims of teenagers. While he couldn't read her reception to his silence, she carried on in a more serious tone, "I'll take you to see Signor Polnareff first. If he's happy with you, then you can meet Giogio." He caught her peeking at him in a guarded manner, hiding half of her expression with the umbrella as she spoke in a softer tone. "You're going to help him, aren't you?"
Jotaro regarded the umbrella as he contemplated his answer. Polnareff had told him the situation was being kept quiet. That this young woman had greeted him indicated that she was part of the need-to-know list. Then again, what good would the honest truth do her? He could save that for Polnareff. For Giorno.
"I'll do what I can," he settled on. She didn't reply, making it impossible to say whether she was appeased.
Once they reached the mansion, the teenager opened the front door for him and shook off her umbrella while he stepped inside. The entrance hall matched the magnificence of the building's exterior: the central attraction, a grand staircase accented along its edge by marble balustrades, was complimented by a marble-tiled floor and several small crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling above. The arched window frames behind him were, as anticipated, covered in black curtains, but he imagined on an ordinary day they would brighten the room with the splendour of natural light. Glancing up at the ceiling revealed this, too, offered an extravagant display—an ornate, carved pattern of flowers and vines was stretched across its length.
Jotaro had received the good fortune of growing up in a large home owned by a well-off family, so he was no stranger to wealth, but even by that measure this place signified excess. Such grandeur too easily recalled that ridiculous manor in Cairo. While he was trying to keep Koichi's remarks on Giorno's character in mind, it seemed his tastes aligned closely with the Brando side of his family tree.
He cursed himself. He wasn't suppose to make that comparison. He'd promised Polnareff he wouldn't. At least, not right away.
A flash of colour startled Jotaro's thoughts.
Star Platinum, The World, he bellowed inwardly. Time's progress shattered to a standstill. Despite the obvious visual tells, he always found the absence of sound to be the biggest indicator of the ability's activation. No rain pattering. No breaths, not in nor out. Not even white noise.
Jotaro was used to this lonely place by now, his domain and his alone. Following Egypt, he'd been hesitant to come here. Dio was gone, but the man's echoes still whispered in his ears, no matter how hard he sought to live an ordinary life. The World was too strong a reminder of all he'd gone through. Despite this, the events in Morioh a few years back had demonstrated the necessity of being able to stay in stopped time for longer. If he'd kept himself trained back then, if he'd had a few extra seconds, maybe Koichi wouldn't have wound up within inches of death's door. Perhaps a couple more people would've escaped Kira's clutches. With those thoughts rattling away, he'd regained the ability to hold five seconds through repeated practice.
Three of the five seconds were plenty for Jotaro to spin to where his peripheral vision had glimpsed the unexpected orange hue. One second more and he realised the colour was nothing but fabric: a bright towel hung in mid-air, fleeing from the tips of the young woman's fingers. He raised his hand and caught it as time resumed. She, unsurprisingly, balked at the instantaneous change in his position, before regaining a cool facade in three seconds of her own.
"You should be careful about using your stand," she criticised, pointing at him like a scolding teacher. "The second Giogio's men see you activate it without permission, they'll think you're attacking and retaliate." He gave silence as his response, to which she merely waved her hand. "Now dry yourself off. I don't care if you're his friend, you need to show Signor Polnareff some respect."
Jotaro mulled over that sentence as he wiped the raindrops from his face. He'd always respected Polnareff, but as for putting on appearances and bowing to rank, he'd never taken his old partner to be that sort of man. He hadn't seemed particularly different when they'd spoken on a video call the other day compared to their last contact years ago. He was a bit quieter, a touch more solemn perhaps, but that was expected; he'd long matured past the rambunctious 20-something of their early days.
Oh, and he was transparent too. Literally. Jotaro still hadn't figured out how he felt about that part.
The obvious differences aside, maybe the man's time working with the mafia, as well as the severity of his earlier injuries, had changed him far more than Jotaro was willing to accept. In his mind, Polnareff was preserved as the version of himself in Egypt: confident, goofy, womanising, proud. It was time he let that image go. Or try to.
Seeing that Jotaro had finished up, the young woman took the towel back. "Alright, this way," she said, beckoning him down one of the hallways that branched off the entrance area. Jotaro's shoes clicked against the polished floors as he followed her near-silent steps. The walls they passed were empty of paintings, but there were decorative pot plants on small tables in several spots. They appeared well-cared for. Their appearance recalled Koichi's description of Giorno's stand ability, so Jotaro was fairly confident these were the boy's own creations; it was no surprise a mafioso would take to flaunting his ability about the place.
The young woman took them to a single door with gilded edges, on which she knocked once.
"It's me, Signor Polnareff. Signor Kujo is here to see you."
"Bring him in."
Jotaro stiffened at the voice. Although it was just three words, he could instantly tell the difference that the recent gift from Rohan's stand made. Polnareff was technically speaking Italian right now, but the words sounded Japanese to Jotaro's ears. It was far too alien. The feeling he'd learnt the name of but could never speak about—anxiety—pooled into his gut.
The young woman gave Jotaro no time to collect his thoughts, opening the door and insisting he enter at once. She'd taken him to some kind of parlour. The room had little of note beside a few couches, a cabinet with an old-fashioned clock on it, and a coffee table in the centre. More to the point, there was no sign of Polnareff anywhere.
"Leave us, Sheila E," said his voice anyway, still in that faux Japanese.
"I can't, signore." The young woman, Sheila E, straightened her posture and crossed her arms. "You can't defend yourself, and given how Giogio is—"
"It's definitely him?" Polnareff interrupted. "You checked his stand?"
"...I did."
"Then there's nothing to worry about. Jotaro would protect me from anything."
Sheila E balled her hands into fists. Jotaro could read the but who would protect you from him etched into her frown lines, but whether from trust or respect she didn't say it. Instead, she bowed.
"Yes, signore. But if anything happens, please call out immediately. I won't be far, and Mista is nearby, too." With a final callous glance shot Jotaro's way, Sheila E made her exit and shut the door behind her, leaving Jotaro with the disembodied voice of his old friend.
"What's wrong? Stage fright?" came the joking tone. Polnareff was speaking in English now, his French accent dripping over the words. Jotaro’s anxiety eased.
"Hardly."
"Heh." Polnareff quietened. "That's fine. I'm nervous enough for the both of us." A ghostly figure rose from behind the couch.
In theory, Jotaro was used to ghosts. Reimi had been proof enough of their existence. Even if he hadn't been accustomed, the form before him was very much like a stand: see-through, yet undeniably real. But for Polnareff to take this appearance? Hovering at the precipice between life and death? Chilling didn't begin to describe it. To make it worse, unlike their video call, he could clearly see the scars Polnareff had earned in his first fight against Diavolo: the blinded eye, the fading muscles, the sallowed skin.
Jotaro was rarely thankful for his natural stoicism. The difficulty he had with self-expression made most relationships a chore. But for once, he was grateful. It meant Polnareff wouldn't spy the guilt reverberating through his body. At least, he could hope as much. The man knew him better than most. The way Jotaro swallowed when their eyes met probably meant he'd caught on in an instant.
"Don't be shy now," Polnareff smiled, trying to push the awkward air aside. "I'd like you to meet my steadfast companion."
Following his friend's motions, Jotaro shuffled around the couch and stared at what he found on its cushion. He already knew the identity of the creature carrying Polnareff's soul, but that knowledge was nothing compared to seeing it in person. The small reptile didn't bother to look at him as it chomped on a lettuce leaf. To think, this sleepy turtle was all that stood between Polnareff and oblivion. There were certainly worse scenarios—at least this kind of turtle was known for its longevity.
"This is Coco Jumbo," Polnareff explained with something akin to pride. Jotaro nodded in greeting. The turtle, unsurprisingly, made no effort to respond. The pair stared at the sedentary creature for a few seconds.
"So, uh. Was your flight okay? You came from America, didn't you?"
"It was fine."
The atmosphere was stifling. Jotaro had no doubt the reason was his fault. He'd been far from Polnareff's side when he needed him most. His old friend was obviously furious, else he wouldn't have taken so long to reach out. And of all the reasons he could've chosen to reunite them, it was... this.
Dwelling on pleasantries wouldn't help. "Tell me what's happening."
Polnareff's expression skirted a line between disappointment and relief. "Right. I mean, I want to catch up, but that can wait." He regarded the old-fashioned clock on the nearby cabinet. "It's been about... what, 46 hours since we spoke? A few Speedwagon Foundation doctors from a base in Rome came and took blood and skin samples, but they don't have any ideas yet. Aside from that, he's about the same... no, I suppose a little worse."
"Has he hurt anyone else?" To his surprise, Polnareff responded with a sharp glare.
"Jotaro."
"It's a fair question."
Polnareff scoffed but answered anyway. "No. Aside from that first attack, nothing has happened. By worse, I mean physically. He started having trouble standing, so he hasn't left his bed for a few hours now. Although I think that's because he's refusing to eat."
"And by 'refusing to eat', you mean—?"
"What do you think I mean?" Polnareff's taut interruption didn't rattle Jotaro. This fire belonged to the man he remembered. Polnareff was less forgiving of his temper and ran his hand across his face to swipe away the outrage. "We tried food, you know. He couldn't even swallow it. I thought refusing the alternative might be an ethical thing, but we've gotten bags from a hospital and he still won't touch it."
"Did he say why?"
"Said he wants to see if starving it out does anything."
"Dio starved himself for a century."
"That's what I told him." The distress was plain on Polnareff's face. "I'm thinking we could try a transfusion, but would that even work? Merdre. Never thought I'd want to know more about Dio's body."
This fretting was familiar to Jotaro, but he couldn't place where from. Regardless, it was odd to see Polnareff in a fluster that wasn't over women or hygiene. When he'd feared time and the mafia had changed the man, this wasn't what he'd imagined.
"Polnareff." The transparent face of his friend glanced his way, a smidgen of hope in his eyes. Jotaro had to suppress a sigh. "Do you really think I have an answer for this? More than you? Than Passione? Than the Speedwagon Foundation?"
Polnareff's flustering vanished. His voice turned soft, almost chiding. If he were still tangible, Jotaro was confident the man would place a comforting hand on his shoulder like they were young once more. "I didn't ask you to come because I thought you'd already have an answer. I asked because I want you to understand who Giorno is. Not what or where he came from. I already know you can make the impossible happen, but I don't expect it if all you can think about is Dio."
Jotaro had thought he was doing remarkably well disguising any preconceived feelings he had towards Giorno. The teenager had a problem to be dealt with, one that didn't require the involvement of personal opinions. However, if Polnareff wanted to bring Giorno's character into this, why deny it?
"Who he is is someone who became head of the mafia at fifteen," he retorted. "I told you I already chose to leave it alone when I learned about him, but I turn my back for five seconds and he's in charge of one of the most powerful organisations in Italy. You can't deny it sounds familiar."
It was a little satisfying, the way Polnareff stumbled over the weight of his point. "Listen... everybody has their interests, right? Giorno's quite driven about his, that's all. Besides, he runs Passione differently than any mafia I've ever heard of."
He'd no rebuttal for that. The Speedwagon Foundation had already confirmed Passione in its current state was relatively morally sound, else they wouldn't have had the group assist with that Stone Mask issue from a year or so back.
"Does he know about his father?" There was no need to specify which.
Polnareff's shoulders lowered. "He does. We realised the connection a while ago—he has your birthmark, you see." Jotaro's eyes narrowed. He hadn't known about that. "I asked about his family and, mon dieu, imagine my shock when he pulled out a photo of Dio." Polnareff's face contorted with embarrassment. "It took me a few days before I could talk about it. Giorno is good at hiding his feelings, but I know it hurt him when I clammed up. Once I realised, I told him the truth. I don't know how long he'd been carrying that photo around, but he got rid of it immediately. Giorno has little love for anyone who slaughters the innocent. Which I'd already known. I'd been a complete fool to doubt him, no matter for how short a time." His gaze hardened. "He's not his father, Jotaro. Dio is dead and gone. We can't keep letting him dictate our lives."
Jotaro had missed that stubbornness and optimism. Too bad no matter how full Polnareff saw the cup, his remained full of holes. "For someone who's dead and gone, he sure keeps coming up."
Polnareff stared at him steadily before responding with a calm tone, "Then consider Giorno a 17-year-old whose had his life turned upside down by Dio. I think you can understand that perspective well enough."
The awkward tension in the atmosphere was back, stronger than ever. But they were adults now; there was no reason to let it remain. Jotaro tugged his hat down over his eyes.
"Guess you better take me to him. Can't make a plan if I don't know what we're dealing with." Moving on worked better than he'd expected; the tension evaporated with a new smile from Polnareff. In the same instant, Jotaro realised what he'd recognised in the man's earlier fretting. That panic, followed by a wave of relief, was what he'd experienced upon rushing to two-year-old Jolyne's bedside when she'd taken ill with a fever, only to arrive and find the fever had broken. This, too, was a change in his friend he hadn't predicted.
"Merci, Jotaro," Polnareff confirmed with a nod. "A head's up before we go—Passione's third and another member of the organisation will be joining us. Both stand users. They're good people and dedicated to Giorno, but they're strict under normal circumstances... given what's happening, they're more on edge than usual. Please let it slide if they're a bit short." Jotaro acknowledged the request with a tilt of his hat. Polnareff then took a breath and turned to a door opposite the one Jotaro had entered through. He called out in Italian, "Mista! We're ready!"
At Polnareff's command, the door opened to reveal a muscular Italian youth with tanned skin and brown eyes. His dark features stood out against some frankly garish bright clothes including a striped blue sweater covered by a leather jacket, striped pants and an orange beanie from which black, curled locks attempted to escape. Despite the showiness of his outfit, the young man wore a serious expression. His eyes shot straight to Jotaro and then bounced to Polnareff.
"You all good?" he asked the Frenchman, his voice rough. The lack of a greeting was a a tell-tale power play. Recalling Polnareff's request, Jotaro pushed the first impression aside. It wasn't like he'd been much better at that age.
"This is Jotaro Kujo," Polnareff stated, wrenching control of the situation into his hands. "And this is Passione's third-in-command, Guido Mista." Mista was forced to acknowledge his visitor with a nod. He was young for a third, but his boss was young for a don. "We're ready to see Giorno." The man stepped towards Polnareff, hands out. "No, it's alright. Jotaro can carry Coco."
Jotaro didn't question the order. He understood exactly what his friend was doing. An active demonstration of trust was the best proof of Polnareff's faith to a man of action, which he surmised Mista was. Not that it made picking up the turtle containing his friend's soul any less tense, what with the Italian mobster staring daggers his way.
"Turtle life comes with its downsides," Polnareff chattered idly. "I can't get anywhere fast without someone carrying me. Other times Coco goes on a little adventure and I'm along for the ride." He laughed, attempting to clear the air, but his words had a different impact on Jotaro. Polnareff had always been a man characterised by independence, going wherever he wanted to as he pleased. It was disconcerting to see how used to this restricted life his friend had become.
The members of Passione seemed equally used to assisting Polnareff; Jotaro could sense Mista's desire to rip the turtle from his hands. He chose to avoid engaging the man's fervour and instead waited for his next direction. Mista gave no sign that he was rattled and followed Polnareff's command without question.
"This way."
The mafioso guided them through the door he'd come through and up a comparatively thin flight of stairs compared to the grandeur of the main stairwell. Jotaro predicted the youth would berate or admonish him as they walked, but, to his credit, he remained tight-lipped. His loyalty to Polnareff was unwavering.
"Where are we going?" Jotaro asked his friend as they approached the end of another hallway on the upper floor. Mista glanced back at the query but didn't comment.
"As I said earlier, Giorno is stuck in bed right now. It's unusual, but we're going to his room."
An obvious pantomime of submission. Jotaro knew that Giorno was a shrewd individual; if not, he wouldn't have been able to both succeed the position of Passione's head and maintain his control over a legion of more senior members. Someone of that intellect would take into account a visitor's character before meeting them. Since Giorno knew about Dio, he could also surmise how Jotaro would feel upon meeting his foe's son. An introduction taking place somewhere so personal to Giorno, and in a state so openly weak, was a calculated act. To show Jotaro that he meant no harm? Maybe. Or else to create a false sense of security.
He's not Dio, Jotaro reminded himself before the conspiracy train ran off its tracks. He was welcome to be on guard, but his feelings couldn't change that Polnareff was right: he had to judge the kid on his own merits.
"Here we are," Mista announced, stopping at an unremarkable door. Jotaro raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing. It's out of the way, that's all."
"What are you saying? That I'm lying to you?" There was the on-edge reaction he'd been warned about. At the same time, Mista wasn't drawing his stand forth. Jotaro didn't react to the outburst.
"Mista, please," Polnareff spoke up instead. "If you walked into a house full of unknown stand users, you'd be cautious too. This is the right place, Jotaro. It's a small room, but Giorno likes the quiet, you know?"
He nodded to show his understanding while inwardly his analysis continued. For someone with an abundance of wealth to demonstrate a preference for simpler things was an easy tactic to foster likability. Manipulation had many forms. He wagered Giorno knew more than a few of them.
Unaware of the treacherous examination of his boss occurring at his back, Mista knocked on the door. "Yo, it's me. I got Polnareff and Kujo."
The door swung open immediately. There was a blonde teenager waiting behind it, but his violet eyes didn't belong to Giorno.
"Welcome," said the youth with a courteous nod in Jotaro's direction. "Signor Kujo, correct?" Jotaro returned the acknowledgement. "My name is Panacotta Fugo. I'm Giorno's assistant." His polite attitude was in direct contrast to Mista's, as were his formal clothes. He wore a dark green suit jacket which had unusual circular cut-outs that revealed a blue tie and dark grey sweater beneath. His matching dark green pants were unremarkable. "Please, allow me to take Coco Jumbo."
Checking first for Polnareff's go-ahead, Jotaro handed the turtle over to the teenager. Fugo stepped back through the door and invited Jotaro to follow. He entered first with Mista right behind.
"Konbanwa, Kujo-san."
A tender voice in accented but discernible Japanese floated from the room's centre. It was higher than the voice ingrained in Jotaro's memory from Egypt, but the rhythm and charismatic lilt of each word was similar enough to catapult him back to his seventeen-year-old body. Corpses littering the streets. The scent of blood thick in the air. They were pulling his friend down from the water tower. In the darkness before him, revealed by pale lamplight, were those same glowing eyes, golden hair and translucent, alabaster skin he'd thought finally destroyed. Jotaro's fight-or-flight instinct kicked up in a rage. Star Platinum trembled within his chest, yearning to strike down this creature before it took another life. One friend was too many. Three was a massacre he should've been able to prevent.
"Hajimemashite. Boku wa Giorno Giovanna desu."
Contrary to the first words, the following snapped Jotaro back to reality. He was thirty-two, not seventeen. It was not Dio's cold, amber eyes that awaited him in the depths of the room, but a warm, green pair that were similar to his grandfather's. Neither did he radiate Dio's intimidating aura, albeit his posture would have eradicated any sense of that. The teenager was sitting in a double bed and was propped up by pillows. His lower half was covered by blankets and he was wearing a simple white top as sleepwear. He smiled and laid his hands in his lap, emanating a sense of calm and control that was diminished only by how drawn his face appeared.
"There's no need for you to speak Japanese." As Jotaro said this, he glanced over the rest of the bedroom. Aside from the bed, there was a small desk, a chair, a mirror and a dresser. The latter was holding a few items: another pot plant, a jewellery box and a stack of books. On closer inspection, they appeared to be school textbooks. Like the rest of the mansion, dark curtains covered the windows.
Giorno inclined his head, unbothered. "Wonderful." Switching to his preferred language caused the Italian accent to disappear from Jotaro's ears. "I doubt I could remember much more. I was going to ask Signor Polnareff to translate for us, but this is easier. I wish we'd been able to meet under better circumstances, considering our relation." His words raised a good point. Since the pair of them were related by blood, this was technically a long-lost family reunion of sorts. Jotaro was getting tired of those.
Noticing Jotaro's silence, Giorno continued. "I also apologise that you had to show your stand at the gate. I'll do the same, so you know I'm who I say. It's also a good place to start with what's happened."
"I understand you can't use Gold Experience at the moment." Jotaro knew the name from Koichi.
"In a sense. Summoning my stand is painful alone. As far as using its abilities... my stand has two. Firstly, it has the ability to 'give life'. I can transform any inanimate object into a living being, be it plant or animal." This matched Koichi's description of the teenager's stand. "When I last tried to do it—" he winced at the memory. "—it felt like my arm was on fire. As for my other ability, it's an automatic defence mechanism that won't activate right now."
Jotaro chose not to pry into the specifics of the second. It was already risky for Giorno to openly share details on his stand's power. If he pushed for more, it would make the uneasy gazes he felt on his back only grow in their distrust.
"I'll bring out my stand to explain further."
"Giogio—!" The quickly silenced gasp came from behind Jotaro. He recognised the polite voice as Fugo's. The teenager dropped his eyes, ashamed of the outburst, but Giorno regarded him with affection rather than judgement.
"This will be quick. There's no need to worry." His eyes flicked back to Jotaro. "At times, my stand knows more than I do. Please listen to it carefully."
The teenager squeezed his eyes shut until the pale silhouette of a stand exited his body. At the moment it passed through his skin, those same eyes snapped back open. While Giorno kept his mouth stubbornly shut, the pain he was experiencing flashed in his pupils. It seemed to ebb once the stand fully separated from him, but nevertheless Jotaro could sense the longing of the Passione members to run to their boss's side. If he were not there, he was certain they would have.
Giorno flopped back against his pillow with a pant and looked to his stand. Jotaro observed the being with him. It had been some time since Koichi's trip to Italy, and the young man had never gotten the best look Gold Experience, but its golden hue was true to the rough detail he'd provided. New to Jotaro was how eerie its appearance was. Although humanoid, its face was marred by uncanny eyeballs too small to fit its eye sockets, leaving holes that revealed nothing within but darkness. Those same eyeballs didn't focus on anything, giving the sense that it was observing something no human could see. Though visibly lacking in the sheer size and outward strength that the World had, it was not surprising to Jotaro that Dio's blood should birth such a discomfiting stand. The fact that it could know more than its user didn't help.
"I am the stand of Giorno Giovanna," it said, its voice reverberating with an air of confidence and power as it hovered above the bed. "Normally, if my user is threatened, I would protect him without hesitation. However, as he is..." One of its eyes flicked lazily to the teenager beneath it. "...using my ability would likely kill him. Albeit, at the moment I sensed his condition was about to take over, I went to use it without direct command... but no matter how many times I made an attempt, I could not prevent the outcome. The condition's activation lies beyond my means."
"That's all you know?" Jotaro asked.
"That is all."
"Thanks." It was odd to speak so directly to a stand, but he pushed aside his concerns and refocused on the investigation. "Giorno, I want to see what happens when you use your first ability." The tension from the two people behind him grew again. Regardless, this was necessary. He wanted to check for sure that Gold Experience's power matched what Koichi had described. Besides, it was true that he might be able to glean something about the teenager's problem.
Giorno obliged with a nod. As before, he steadied himself for the pain. Then, with his stand following his motion, he brought the tip of one finger to a button on his white top. At once, it spun into a pink flower. A tiny chrysanthemum.
Jotaro's eyes weren't as good as Star Platinum's, but in the instant the flower bloomed he'd spotted something unusual alongside its growth. Something familiar. He tucked the observation away for the moment since a more obvious outcome had caught his attention: the hand Giorno had used was now laced with red lines. Rather than scratches, they appeared more like the marks made by a rash or sunburn. Giorno snatched the arm to his chest. Jotaro stepped back as Mista and Fugo cast aside their patience and rushed to his side.
"I'm fine," Giorno insisted before they could open their mouths. His stand faded back into his body without a sound. "It's the same as before, that's all."
"Well?" Although Jotaro had expected Mista to look his way, it was Fugo who'd snapped the word. "Can you fix this or not?"
Jotaro didn't let the aggression ruffle him. "I'm working on it. There's another thing I want to check first." The way the pair tensed up as his hand moved to his pocket didn't escape him. "I'm not pulling out a gun. There's a UV flashlight in my pocket. Completely harmless to ordinary people in small doses." He pulled the flashlight out and shone it against his hand to demonstrate. "Giorno, I want to see what happens when the light touches your skin."
"Asshole." This time, Mista was the one to challenge him. "You know what'll it do."
"Not necessarily," he replied, emotionless. Mista and Fugo frowned, readying themselves to defend their boss as they saw fit. Giorno placed his uninjured arm in from of the pair to dissuade their anger.
"It's okay. Do as you need to, Signor Kujo." He held out the same arm towards Jotaro's flashlight. Not risking a chance for hesitation, he hovered the globe above Giorno's skin and flicked it on for no more than a second.
The teenager seemed less prepared for the pain this time around. Jotaro doubted the light hurt as much as the injuries from the teenager's stand, and still Giorno gasped. As he did, his lips rose to reveal pinprick fangs hanging where normal canine teeth should sit. A final gift from his villainous father.
If stands were given to the Joestar bloodline, than this was likewise what the Brando heritage bestowed. But whether vampirism was a blessing, like stands had been to himself and Joseph, or a curse, as they were for his mother, Jotaro didn't know.
"Right." He pulled the flashlight back and loomed over the fragile remnant of his worst enemy. "Tell me exactly how this started."