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January 17th, in the early hours of the morning when the sky is dark and the sun isn’t anywhere to be seen on the horizon, a phone rings in the Pucci household. It only rings the once before it’s answered, for Enrico Pucci has waited by it most of the night. He’s nodded off now and then briefly, only to rouse himself after a few minutes. Three cups sit on the desk - two empty and one filled with lukewarm coffee. He sits in his father’s study and though he has school tomorrow, he already knows he won’t attend. No matter what comes tonight, Enrico Pucci will not be returning to school anytime soon.
He lifts the receiver to his ear and says nothing, listening carefully in case someone has called this number by accident - or worse, worse, they may have called this number intentionally and even now seek to know who lies on the other end of it. Pucci listens carefully, his heart in his throat, waiting for word of the battle.
The silence over the phone is like a weight pressing on his chest. It’s hard to breathe as he hears nothing from the other end of the line. Pucci closes his eyes and he grasps at prime numbers, trying to find some manner of comfort in their presence. Dio is alive. A prime is not divisible. Dio is alive. A prime is itself and only itself, never to be broken or shattered. Dio is alive-
There’s a soft, familiar chuckle, a voice carried hundreds of miles in a second, delivering sweet relief. “Pucci,” Dio says, and Pucci lets out the breath he’s been holding onto, his mouth quickly pulling into a smile just at the sound of his voice. “The Joestars are dead.”
“Thank God.” Pucci’s feels his voice crack and his hands tighten on the receiver and for the first time in a month, he feels as if he hasn’t anything left to worry about. “Thank God. I was- I didn’t doubt you, but-”
But he had worried anyway. The weight of uncertainty had suffocated Pucci. For months, they’ve spoken of Heaven with one another, of a future where all was known and every mystery was revealed. Pucci’s longed for it desperately, but never so much as he had tonight. If he had known that Dio would be triumphant, he wouldn’t have sat here for hours, his stomach half-sick with worry and jitters.
“It was closer than I had anticipated. Jotaro’s stand turned out to be like my own. He was able to move in my world.” Dio’s voice is soft and Pucci feels terror grip at him, even though he knows if Dio is speaking with him, then all danger has passed. But- two stands with the same ability? And for Dio to face down Jotaro with the same time-stop ability he had…
“But you won.” Pucci says it more for himself. Dio won. Even with a complimentary power, it didn’t matter. They couldn’t stop Dio. And with the Joestars dead, no one would ever threaten Dio again. “Tell me everything. Dio, tell me what happened. Tell me how it felt to kill them.”
He can’t see Dio but Pucci can picture him clearly in his mind, Dio lounging and lifting one bloody hand to his face. He sounds so tired but at the same time, he sounds so strong and confident, Dio triumphant as he was meant to be. “You shall hear everything when I see you.”
“When?” He doesn’t meant to be demanding but he grasps at the promise, thrilled to know that Dio will be visiting him again, or he will be visiting Dio. Pucci doesn’t care if his parents protest. They don’t matter anymore. Nothing can stand between him and Dio anymore.
Heaven waits for them all.
--
February 6th, two hours after sunset with a sky so black that every last star can be seen with the naked eye Enrico Pucci stands on the Cape Canaveral launchpad with Dio beside him. They’re on the cusp of victory, minutes away from the moment when the world finally bows to their whims.
He feels as if he might die at any moment.
For days now, his body has fought with itself, pushing Pucci to the limits of what he can stand. Whitesnake has spoken less and less, his usually talkative stand retreating in on himself until he hardly appears at all. Pucci’s body is marked with a star now, nestled on his shoulder. It’s just like Dio’s mark. He takes comfort in that, even as the rest of him feels as if he’s being torn apart. Sometimes, his skin ripples when he looks at it. Sometimes, his bones grind against one another.
Sometimes he feels so unbelievably tired.
“Soon,” Dio reminds him. His hands soothe Pucci, running over his back and his neck. It’s only Dio’s presence that keeps him moving forward. He’s given up more than Pucci, given up his stand and killed the World, letting himself be left helpless. And yet he’s continued. If he can do so, if he can fight, then Pucci can as well. Dio’s hand settles on the star on Pucci’s shoulder, cupping it with his palm. “A little longer, Enrico.”
A little longer. Just a little longer. He nods and he leans into Dio’s touch, promising himself that it will all be worth it in the end. All of this will be worth it. He stood there in the sunlight and saw the fruit the grove of sinners bore. Pucci was witness to the death of the World and the rise of something new, so soft and green, who responded to the words Pucci uttered while Dio was silent and still.
The green baby changed them both. Dio’s skin has grown paler somehow, an unnatural shade of white. Pucci’s forehead is covered in a star, his body marked by the green baby and by the dying World. They both sacrificed themselves to this dream and now they stand in this vast field of asphalt, surrounded by machines and rockets that bear humans beyond the grip of gravity. They have walked from their Golgotha to the tomb where they will be reborn. The resurrection is at hand. He only needs to live long enough to see it. God, please, let him live long enough to see it.
His skin ripples again, harder. Pucci can feel the place where gravity is weakest, for his body shakes and twists as he turns towards it. Whitesnake is missing. He couldn’t summon his stand even if he wanted to at this point. The sky is black, the moon missing from it, and Pucci staggers forward as he feels gravity desperately pulling at him, trying to drag him back into its grasp.
“Dio.” Pucci holds tight to his hand as he steps forward. The position is so near. Fate has guided them here. Everything has lead to this moment - all sixteen years of Pucci’s life, all one-hundred and twenty-two years of Dio’s life and exile beneath the ocean.
Dio strides with a confidence that Pucci envies. Since Cairo, he has moved with pure grace and power. The scar that marred his neck is missing. His body is his own. No one will ever stand between Dio and the destiny of this world again.
“Courage, my friend.” Dio’s hand is in his. Pucci holds tight, squeeze, steps forward and feels it-
He feels the moment the world opens around him. Pucci’s body aches and he cries out, his feet leaving the ground. Here - the place where gravity is weakest. Here - the place where fate cannot touch either of them ever again.
Here - the key to it all. The light fills him and it fills Dio and they burn together, the only two stars left in the sky.
--
April 7th, in the broad daylight, Enrico Pucci sits on the grass and lets the light pour over him, warming every inch of himself. It’s a beautiful day and he knows it will stay beautiful all day long. It’s warm and he knows that he will sit out here another two hours. He knows exactly what he’ll do for the rest of the day, and the day after that, and all the days in his life until he dies.
It’s a wonderful feeling, knowing exactly what lies in front of you. It’s the most satisfying feeling in the world.
A little ways away, C-Moon skips stones on the water. He’s not much like Whitesnake, though Pucci sees the part of him that are still his former stand. C-Moon is quieter though. He likes to be told what to do. He enjoys touching things to see what will happen. He likes the World Over Heaven.
World Over Heaven is nearly the same as before, but not quite. Not exactly. Pucci’s gotten good at noticing the differences between the World and the World Over Heaven, just as he’s gotten good at noticing the differences between Whitesnake and C-Moon.
C-Moon winds up and whips a rock across the water. It skips, the rock twisting inside out, crumbling and snapping back together until it catches on the surface and sinks. His teeth are gritted but Pucci feels the soft glow of contentment from C-Moon as he sees it go further than the last.
World Over Heaven watches silently, his eyes following C-Moon’s actions. He never speaks, but Pucci knows he’s more attentive than before. His eyes track more than threats. The World Over Heaven watches C-Moon with clear fascination.
“Pucci.” Dio calls his name. Pucci turns his attention away from their stands, focusing on Dio only. Sometimes, Pucci has trouble looking away from him. He’s so handsome. His hair flows down his back, golden and full and glorious, and his skin is the palest shade of purple, the colour of thistles in bloom. Pucci’s buried his face against Dio’s back so many times, losing himself in the sea of regal colours.
There’s a smile on his face. He knew exactly what Dio was going to say, and yet, he also didn’t know what Dio would say until he spoke the words out loud. The only point of uncertainty in this world is within Dio. Pucci supposes that should worry him but he feels nothing but comfort looking at him, knowing that Dio will always do what is good and necessary. “Yes?”
Dio is quiet. Once, it would have made Pucci anxious, not knowing why Dio was silent. The lack of knowing would have plagued his mind and filled him with anxiety.
It’s been two months since he last grasped at prime numbers for comfort. He knows exactly what will happen. He’s prepared for it all - the good and the bad. Perhaps sometimes he misses what it was like to feel genuine surprise. Perhaps sometimes he feels a little melancholy, seeing death laid out ahead of him and knowing that he will die alone and without Dio at his side.
But he wouldn’t trade those moments for how he feels now. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t worry about the future. He doesn’t wonder why God does the things he does. He doesn’t feel as if he’s drowning, his life consumed by questions that could only be answered in hindsight.
Pucci knows everything destined for him and he embraces it with arms wide open.
“Are you content?” Dio asks, just as Pucci knew he would. And just as he knew he would, Pucci nods. He shifts closer to Dio, pressing their knees together. Pucci offers a hand and Dio takes it. He’s so warm now. It’s a marvel, a miracle, a blessing.
“Now and forever, until the day I die.” Pucci tells him, and his hand squeezes Dio’s. “And you?”
Dio thinks on it for a while. By the water, C-Moon offers a hand for the World Over Heaven to hold. Dio’s stand stares at it for a little while before he reaches out and takes it. He feels the impression of the World Over Heaven’s hand on his own, broad and firm, just as Dio’s hand is broad and firm. Their stands hold onto one another and Pucci closes his eyes, letting the sun wash over them.
He knows Dio won’t answer him. But, he knows Dio will squeeze his hand, and that’s all the answer Pucci needs. This is Heaven after all.