Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June 20th, 2004

Trish loves working. Well, she doesn't like the paperwork, or the really boring meetings, but she likes the other parts of her job. She likes somehow being able to help people despite what it is that she does. Nobody would expect a mafioso to help anyone other than themselves, but Passione is… different now. Their own needs and wants will always come first, but some people are lucky enough to fall within the lines of their values.

Right this moment, Trish was at a meeting with Bucciarati. Well, she wasn't exactly with him, considering nobody but Bucciarati knew she was here. She was the backup for this situation; Bucciarati was negotiating for territory in Umbria, and by negotiating she meant they would take it over from the gang in front of them. Meanwhile, Trish looked on, brushing off the warehouse dust from her black fur coat. (Faux fur, of course. And yes, in the middle of June.)

The leader was sitting across from Bucciarati, some of his men surrounding him. Trish had been zipped into the room discreetly, where she was currently hovering back behind any eyes that would notice her; she didn't need to be seen, not yet.

“...Now I don't want to sound patronizing, but joining Passione is your best option. We aren't kicking you out of your position, just bringing some of our own guys in.”

“And taking a cut of the money.” The opposing gang leader said with a sneer.

Bucciarati shook his head. “Not enough to bleed you dry. We understand the concept of having mouths to feed; we don't intend on ruining a good thing for you, just assimilation.”

The man laughed. “Ruining anything?” He pointed at Bucciarati. “Everyone knows that Passione stops drugs wherever they go. It doesn’t matter even if we don’t sell to kids, that shit’s our livelihood.”

“But we replace it with different… avenues of revenue, if you will. One door closes and another door opens, and I highly suggest walking through this one.”

“Are you threatening me, Bucciarati?”

“I am just reminding you that Presidente Lorenzetti is planning on cracking down on gangs in Umbria, much more than she had in the past. You know, considering she'll be up for reelection next summer. We have plenty of above the table work opportunities for people of your caliber, as well as things more along these lines. Just agree, sign the contract, and we'll be on our way.” Bucciarati looked at his watch. “It is quite late now, and our Don likes having things on paper, even if they have no legal standing.”

Trish couldn't see the opposing leader's face, but could tell by his body language that he was getting annoyed. “You think we can't handle some extra cops?”

“That is not what I-”

“Maybe it's because your Passione was never really on the streets that you don't get it, but we can take care of our own shit.” He pulled a gun, Trish had to refrain from scoffing and settled on a silent eye roll. Bucciarati looked less than impressed as the leader continued to speak. “We worked our entire lives for this position, only for some prick in an expensive suit to come and talk like he owns us. You ain't shit, Bucciarati. You ain't hard and you aren't going to take my city.”

Trish watched as Bucciarati slowly rolled his neck. “How old were you?”

“What?”

“When you first wasted someone. How old were you?”

“The fuck that gotta do with-”

“Humour me.”

The man went silent before replying. “Eighteen.”

“I was twelve. Double murder.” Trish watched some of the guards look back at each other. “And that was almost eleven years ago now. In those eleven-ish years, I've done damn near everything except for move drugs, and do you want to know what I learned? That I hate getting innocent people involved in our type of work.” Bucciarati gestured towards the warehouse window. “And your style of work wraps plenty of innocent people into it. I happen to be quite good at keeping civilians away, such people shouldn't be tangled up in our world. Wouldn't you agree, Trish?”

Trish let out a low whistle, getting the attention of everyone else in the room. “Don't worry about how I got in here,” Trish said, “you have much more pressing matters to deal with. For example, you there, Lucio hm?” Trish looked at one of the guards. “You got married last year, I hope you and Saera are doing well. Or Gianmarco, who spends his money on his son - wish him happy birthday from me, it's tomorrow isn't it?” Trish smiled. “Or how about your fearless leader Zittire? You don't know much about him, or his six siblings that he works so hard to keep afloat, even though none of them know that he exists?”

Zittire looked at her, eyes wide. “How the hell do you know all of that?”

“It doesn't matter how I know that information, but what we can do with it. So I suggest you all lower your weapons, sit down, and think about the people that you don't want wrapped up with us.” Trish moved her coat, revealing the pistol attached to her hip. That was the good thing about Passione: they could be even scarier than the government.

Zittire looked like he wanted to rip Trish's head off, to which Trish simply smiled. After a few moments, he nodded at his men, who lowered their weapons and he sat back down. He looked back at Bucciarati, “I sign this…”

“And none of your information will be leaked. We do take care of our own.” Bucciarati procured a pen from his pocket and was about to hand it to the man when his phone vibrated. Trish smirked, right on time.

Bucciarati answered the call, putting it on speaker. “Go ahead.”

“So, that club you wanted us to check out? We checked it out.” That was Narancia's voice over the phone, where Trish could hear other voices.

“And what did you two find?”

“Yeah, um, the girls at that club? Some of them were actual girls. Kids.” Both Bucciarati and Trish expected that to be the result, but she grimaced when she heard Narancia nonetheless.

Bucciarati spoke into the phone. “And did you take care of it?”

“Fugo’s getting the last of them out, everything’s taken care of. All that’s left is meeting up with you.”

“Meet us here.” Bucciarati said before hanging up the phone. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and sighed. “Well, it sucks to be all of you.” He opened his eyes, and Trish didn’t see the glint in his eyes that is usually there. If she didn’t know that shit was going to go down based on the black suit, she knew now. Just give her the word and she’ll be ready, too. “Trish, if you don’t mind.”

“My pleasure.” Trish pulled out her own glock and shot the nearest two guys in the head, summoning Spice Girl to knock out the other guy. She had her Stand block the bullets that came from the fourth guard before catching a few in her palm. She launched them back at him as rubber, returning to their original state before impact, riddling the man with holes. In less than a second after that, Bucciarati had stabbed his pen into Zittire’s left hand, eliciting a scream from the other gang leader.

“You know, members of Passione are by no means saints, but we have standards.” Bucciarati looked up at the man, clearly disgusted. “We don’t work with pigs.” Bucciarati slammed Zittire’s head into the desk before throwing the man to the ground. “Trish, call your brother and tell him we’re done here. I'm going to throw our new friend here out a window.”

Zittire turned pale. “What?!”

Trish tuned out as Zittire tried to escape from her father, flipping her new phone open. “You guys speeding?”

“When doesn't he?” Fugo answered, Narancia must be driving. “At this rate, we'll be there in the next five minutes. How's Bucciarati? I'm sure he went evil mode when he heard about the girls.”

Trish looked over at Bucciarati, who was slowly inching Zittire closer to the window, definitely scaring him more than he needed to. “Oh yeah,” Trish responded, “but it's not like it's a bad thing this time. No such thing as overkill for people like this.” There was the sound of glass breaking, and a loud scream. Trish turned back to see Bucciarati looking out the window before unzipping his arm. He placed it on the windowsill and jumped down. 

Trish made sure that all of Zittire’s men were dead before speaking again. “See you in a bit, Fugo.” She flipped her phone shut before sliding down Bucciarati’s unzipped arm. She saw him bent down, looking at Zittire’s mangled body, still alive and gurgling on his own blood. “Ugh, Bucciarati!” Trish said at the disgusting sight. “Just kill him, he looks gross.”

“He doesn't deserve that luxury.”

“True,” Trish agreed, “but it's nasty to me, and I don't deserve to keep looking at it. So do it for me, Bruno?” She called him by his first name in order to get him to properly listen (thanks for the tip, Abbacchio) to her and not do… weird Bucciarati things

Bucciarati looked up at her, the glint back in his eyes once more. “That is gross.” He agreed, before standing up and shooting Zittire with his own gun, ending the man's life. He looked to Trish, “Make sure that their families get compensation.”

“I'll send someone.” Trish confirmed as they began walking towards the road. Narancia and Fugo should be here soon. “It'll be a while before we're back in Napoli,” Trish started, “do you want to grab something to eat here or when we get back home?” There was no response, and Trish realized that Bucciarati wasn't right next to her. She turned around. “Bucciarati?”

He wasn't moving. He was just standing there. “Bruno?” His hands started shaking. Trish took a hesitant step forward, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. It was the feeling that she got whenever a Stand User was in range. Before she could take another, Bucciarati stopped shaking, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed.

“Bruno!”

***

Bucciarati woke up with a painful throb in his skull. He cracked his eyes open and saw bright lights shining down on him. Something about this felt dreadfully wrong. His chest, his skin, he felt off in his own body; as if he didn’t belong here. Is he…

“You're in the hospital.” That was Narancia's voice. Bucciarati sat up properly and saw Fugo and Trish with him. All three of them were eerily calm, but Bucciarati knew that it was because they were trying to keep it together. They were probably worried sick.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” Fugo questioned. “Trish said… said your heart kept stopping and starting before we got there.” He shook his head. “There’s no way you didn’t notice anything beforehand. This was nothing like a heart attack. The doctors don’t even know what the hell happened to you, they kept almost calling you dead.”

“It was a Stand attack.” Trish answered. “I could feel it. I couldn’t see anybody, but I know there was someone there. It had to be a member of the gang or-”

“I checked, Trish.” Narancia responded. “There weren’t any people there other than us. Alive, anyway.”

“Then it was a long range Stand!”

“What long range Stand has the power to keep killing him? And why wouldn’t they take you out too?”

“It wasn’t a Stand attack.” Bucciarati stopped the both of them before they got worse. He didn’t want to bring this up, he was hoping that this would never happen in front of other people, and especially not them. “It normally happens at night.”

Fugo widened his eyes. “This has happened before?”

“Many times.” Bucciarati sighed. He would have to explain this now, which was what he had been trying to avoid for the longest. “I'll be in bed reading or something and just… knock out without warning. I might not even be tired yet, but it would happen and I would wake up feeling as if I had just slept for a thousand years; my body would feel stiff. It was like when I woke up in the hospital after Giorno saved me, Abbacchio, and you, Narancia.” He looked at the boy. “It felt like I was coming back to life every time.”

There was dead silence in the hospital room, the other three staring at Bucciarati in utter disbelief at the reveal. Even Bucciarati wanted to say something in order to kill this stale atmosphere.

“So you mean to tell me,” Fugo started, “that you've been dying, you knew that you have been dying, and didn't think to mention that to anyone?!” Bucciarati winced at Fugo's voice, his hearing was sensitive from his moment of death. “Did Giorno know, at least?”

“Nobody knows.” Bucciarati admitted.

Trish and Narancia spoke this time. “What?!” 

Narancia stood up and paced. “When you were dying the first time, it made sense that you didn't wanna tell anyone cause we had a mission, but this? Nothing we've done since is as risky as that, so why not tell us? Tell Gio?”

Bucciarati was silent, not really wanting to answer that question. “Bruno,” Trish looked at him, “you owe us at least an explanation for this.”

“Because I don't want to put Giorno through that again.” He said finally. “It was hard enough for him to properly save me with Gold Experience Requiem, so what could be done to help me without it?” He shook his head. “I am not putting the weight of my life on his shoulders again.”

“So you'd rather die than try?” Trish questioned. “Gio wouldn’t want to just… just let you go! Not when he worked so hard to keep you here, to keep all of us together!” The freshly turned nineteen-year-old looked at him, and clearly disagreed with Bucciarati.

But Bucciarati simply shook his head again, he doesn't have the time to think about this right now mainly because his head was beginning to pound again. “Just… can this be kept between everyone in this room? Don't tell Giorno or-”

“-Abbacchio?” The deep voice that Bucciarati normally loves to hear was right outside the door, and Abbacchio walked into the room, an unreadable expression on his face (which is in its own way, a readable expression). His arms were folded and he stared at his boyfriend and stood by Trish.

Bucciarati looked at the girl, who shrugged. “You might be someone who thinks that hiding everything is cool, but you know I'm a professional snitch. I called him in the car.”

Their leader tried to change the subject. “I’m fine. How was your mission-”

“Not a chance.” Abbacchio shut him down swiftly, “Poggio Moiano is only an hour away, Narancia picked me up after you were admitted into here. I don’t know if they’ve told you the time yet, but it’s been two hours since you got here. There is no way we aren't telling Giorno, he's the only one who has a chance at actually making you better.” They fell silent before Abbacchio asked. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since ‘02.”

“Christ.” Abbacchio ran a hand through his hair. “Bruno, I know I never talk to you like this but what the fuck? Two goddamn years and you never thought to mention this to anyone? To me? Stand attack or not there is something wrong with your body!”

Bucciarati supposes that he deserved that reaction. He knew that everyone would go into panic mode the moment he let them know that this was going on. It was a miracle that Fugo wasn't the one to explode first. The man ignored everyone's worry by repeating, “Just don't tell Giorno.”

“Jesus fuck, Bucciarati!” That was from Narancia. “Do you not trust us at all? We get it, we're your kids, but we're kids who have gone through hell and back!”

“And I don't want you to have to do that again.” Again, more beats of silence. Bucciarati didn't want to be here, having this discussion. He wanted to be home, asleep, and not worrying about the feelings of rigor mortis that invaded his joints. He didn't want them to be worrying about this. He didn't need Giorno to try and grasp at straws for his sake, at least Abbacchio and Narancia will still be here if death comes for him permanently.

“If it happens again,” Abbacchio said lowly, “so help me God, you'll wake up with Giorno standing over you.”

Bucciarati exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “That’s fair.” All he could do now was hope and pray that it never happened while either of them were awake. He rolled his neck, his bones were starting to feel normal again. “We can leave now.”

Fugo raised an eyebrow, “You sure?”

Bucciarati nodded, standing out of the bed. “I feel fine. Text Giorno that we’re heading back, and that I’m alright.”

But Abbacchio was still looking dead at him. “The three of you go to the car.” He said to the kids. The three of them shared glances, but didn’t ask anything else, just nodding and exiting the hospital room. 

The third period of silence came, and Bucciarati felt compelled to speak. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust all of you and-”

Bucciarati was cut off, strong arms wrapped around him. “You looked dead.” Abbacchio's voice was tight. “Baby you weren't- you were gone. ”

“I'm sorry.” Bucciarati whispered, hugging him back.

“I don't need an apology, I know the type of person you are. I know what I signed up for, but I can't lose you.”

“You won't.” Bucciarati insisted.

“This is losing you,” Abbacchio retorted, “bit by bit, I'm losing you and what happens if this… becomes permanent? If you don't wake up?”

Bucciarati didn't say anything for a few moments, because how could he say that it wouldn't happen again? He's just praying that it doesn't. “We should probably head to the car.” He chose to say, separating the two of them. They didn't break away fully, though, with their fingers still connected.

**

They made it back to  the house with a painfully silent car ride behind them, where Giorno was still wide awake, walking up to them quickly and scanning all of their faces. “Are you alright? Abbacchio… wouldn’t explain over the phone.”

“Long fight.” Bucciarati lied. “It took a lot out of me, but I’m alright.” Bucciarati didn’t miss how Narancia and Fugo looked at him, which means Giorno didn’t either. But as everyone went to their respective rooms, Giorno didn’t leave right away.

“I’m glad you’re alright.” The nineteen year old said. “If you need anything, or if you start to feel any pain, let me know.”

Bucciarati could only nod. “Thank you. Goodnight, Giorno.”

***

The three days later, the incident had been mostly forgotten about. Abbacchio had just finished getting dressed when he heard a crash, and Narancia screamed louder than he ever had before. The older man dashed out of his room to see Bucciarati crumpled on the ground, a plate shattered next to him. “He- he-” Narancia couldn’t get it out. “Collapsed.”

The others from upstairs ran down. Fugo closed his eyes. “Fuck…”

Giorno’s eyes were wide. “What-”

“I’m moving him to the bed.” Abbacchio made his voice louder than everyone else’s, not giving them a chance to freak out. “Giorno, with me. You have to heal him.” Abbacchio placed Bucciarati on the bed, he already felt cold- as if he had been dead for days not moments.

Giorno had his hands on Bucciarati before Abbacchio had even fully laid him down. He wasn't asking any questions the way he usually would, he didn't ask what happened or why everyone else looked like they had seen this before? He just sent out Gold Experience and got to work, closing his eyes and concentrating. At least he tried to, because his eyebrows furrowed. “I feel his soul. It's still in his body, it's still trying to keep him alive.”

“Then what happened?” Maybe this is a Stand attack, maybe that's why this is an unexplainable event. “Why can't- why is he dying?”

“Something is trying to grab his soul.” Giorno answered. “I don't know if it's death itself or something else, but it's not letting him live.” Both of them shared a look before Giorno spoke again. “I won't stop until I save him, I promise.”

Abbacchio understood why Bucciarati didn't want Giorno to try and fight for him like this again: that boy never wanted to be helpless, and he would protect the six of them like they were the most important people in the world. If something has latched onto his soul, and there is nothing Giorno can do, then the only person who can save Bucciarati is Bucciarati.

Chapter Text

Bruno expected to end back up in that strange place, heaven, he likes to call it. That strange cafe, those strange people, the bus. But that wasn’t where he was, far from it. He was standing in a field, the world was tinted green, the sun in perpetual state of being hidden behind unmoving clouds. The grass below him looked as if it was blowing in the wind, but the air was still. It was like he had been dropped into a world that was frozen in time.

Is he in hell?

“What the fuck did I do…” Bruno said to himself, before doing a double-take at his voice. It sounded like he was underwater. He looked around, seeing nothing but the field for miles upon miles. If this is hell, it definitely fits. Forced to be alone for eternity, going mad with one's thoughts; this is even worse than the fire.

“You shouldn't be here.” Bucciarati whipped around when he heard a voice. There was nobody behind him, which sent a chill down his spine. “Look down.” The voice repeated. Bucciarati did, and was shocked at who he saw - or rather, what .

“Metallica?”

And then everything in this strange place started to move. The clouds began to slowly travel across the sky (although it seemed as if the sun traveled with them), and Bucciarati could now hear the wind going through the grass even though he still could not feel it. His voice sounded normal now, too. The Stand looked up at him, “Hello, Bucciarati.”

It was speaking to him. The Stand was speaking to him. Not a Stand cry, but full coherent sentences. Yet all Bucciarati could say was, “I really am dead, huh?”

“Well, you have a strange way of being dead,” It had Risotto’s tone and cadence, but was higher to fit its tiny body, “considering that you’re here.”

“And here is…?”

“Here is here.” Metallica answered unhelpfully.

Bucciarati bent down to hold out his hand for Metallica to climb on. “Care for any more explanation? I am stuck in this place.”

Metallica climbed onto his finger before responding to him. “This is where Stands are born, where we die, and where we wait.”

Bucciarati sat with him. “What do you wait for?”

“It changes from Stand to Stand. Dying can be a slow process for us, so some are waiting for that. The others have their own reasons that they wait.” Metallica watched Bucciarati look around. “You cannot see them, as you do not belong here. You can only see me because I want to see you.”

“You… want to see me?” Bucciarati questioned. “Why? I killed your entire team, I acted as if I didn't know you when you and Risotto were laying there dead in Sardinia.”

The little Stand blinked at him before speaking. “If Risotto resented you in death, it does not matter to me. We're dead now, which makes whatever happened in the human world irrelevant.” It shook its head. “Everything that happened to humans doesn't matter here, and that's why you shouldn't be here. Dead people don't go here. Humans have their own places to go.”

“Then why am I?” Bucciarati questioned. “If I'm not meant to be here, then how did I end up here? If I died, then what did I do to get myself stuck in this place?”

“You didn't die.”

Bucciarati widened his eyes. “What?!”

“You are not dead, I can tell with the way you speak. Dead people don’t linger onto the world of the living or ask as many questions.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Risotto and I had some time together before we separated. His only question was if he could see his friends again. If you’re not truly dead then something… no, she is keeping you here-” The Stand froze, not saying anything for a few moments. “She found you. I should have known it was her.”

“Who?” But before Bucciarati could get a response, or Metallica could say another word, the wind began to whip through Bucciarati’s hair.

“Bucciarati, run.” Metallica dripped between his fingers, disappearing just as Bucciarati began to feel a sense of dread. Run from what? Run from who?

And then the temperature dropped all around him, and Bucciarati saw something approaching him. He wasted no time and decided to heed Metallica's words, beginning to run. He can think later about what any of this is; if something wants him even in death - or fake death - then Bucciarati can't even fathom what it is going to do to him.

He looked behind himself and saw the being. No, it must be a Stand. Their eyes met, and Bucciarati’s chest began to feel heavy, as if his heart was too big for his body. He gasped, looking down at his heart opening in his suit but didn't see anything wrong with him. Yet the feeling grew. The Stand continued to walk at a leisurely pace, with every step closer making Bucciarati’s chest hurt even more. His legs buckled, and he dropped to the ground. “What…” He croaked. “What do you want from me?” His chest began to glow yellow under his skin, as if a flashlight was inside of him.

The Stand came closer, looking over Bucciarati’s body. And in this moment, the man had never felt so powerless. The Stand was humanoid with pale skin and a checkered black and white vest with black pants and dress shirt. It looked so human, more than any other Stand that Bucciarati had ever seen. It even had hair, short and blonde in Shirley Temple curls along with almost human eyes. That was where her humanity ended. It had golden horns like a ram's and its eyes were strange: it had white pupils and it seemed to be perpetually staring, not unlike how Gold Experience Requiem used to. It had no nose or mouth at all, just fair skin where those should be.

Bucciarati didn't like how it was close enough for him to see its features. It reached its hand out; Bucciarati’s chest glowed brighter and he let out a choked noise. Any questions that he could ask died in his throat, he could hear his heart in his chest - beating at an abnormally fast rate. A heart attack. Bruno Bucciarati is going to have a heart attack. He needs to get away from this. The closer it gets the sooner he’s going to die (again). He tried to drag himself away, but it was no use, it was far too late for him now. His eyes began to darken around the edges, and his heartbeat grew louder.

“ARI!”

That painfully familiar voice. Bucciarati’s eyes began to focus and the pain in his chest began to lessen. He could see his Stand, his Sticky Fingers, throwing another punch at the Stand in front of him. The enemy Stand was sent flying, hitting the ground with an uncomfortable noise. Sticky Fingers looked back at him, rushing over to him. “How badly did she hurt you?”

Bucciarati couldn’t respond back, his eyes widening at Sticky Finger’s words - because they were true words, just like Metallica. Can every Stand talk here? It sounds just like himself, but slightly different. “You can’t be here, Bruno. You have to wake up! I can’t- I can never hold her back for long.”

“I-I-” Calm down, Bruno. There is no time to freak out, your life is at stake and who knows who else is. Questions later, get out now. “How do I wake up?”

“How have you been waking up before this?”

Bucciarati shook his head. “I just… just wake up.” Their conversation was cut short when the other Stand began to rise up again and Sticky Fingers got in front of his User.

“You need to wake up and get out of here - get us out of here.”

“I don’t know how to do that!” Bucciarati said as Sticky Fingers made his way over to the other Stand. The man felt something on him: a flower was growing across his right shoulder; vines spreading across where Diavolo had injured him three years ago. Their enemy froze, looking past Bucciarati with an almost fearful expression. Bucciarati slowly turned around, and was relieved when he saw who was behind him. Gold Experience Requiem, staring as it always did. “Requiem?”

“Hello, Bucciarati. Sticky Fingers.” Bucciarati looked back towards the other Stands. The enemy was gone, but his own remained. “It runs whenever it sees me.”

“You!” Sticky Fingers pointed to Requiem, approaching it. “You promised me the last time that I would get an explanation, but now my User is here? You were going to protect him!”

But Requiem shook its head. “I would if I could, but it is not safe here. The longer the both of you are here, the quicker it can come back. Eventually I won't be enough either. You'll remember this time, Sticky Fingers. Leaving with your User is different from leaving by yourself.”

“Everyone has been telling me to leave,” Bucciarati cut in between the things he couldn't understand, “but nobody has been telling me how to actually do that.”

Gold Experience Requiem turned its attention back to the human. “I will send you back. It will be easy since Giorno has been trying to grab onto your soul.” It put its hand on Bucciarati’s shoulder. “He will know who to call about this. My protection won't be enough for long, he will need to bring in someone else. Your safety is my priority, but please make sure he is safe. If she cannot get to you the way she needs to, she will try to get you through Giorno.”

“Wha-”

And then Bucciarati’s eyes shot open and he inhaled. Where was he? His vision was blurry again and his skin felt like there were little bugs underneath. He wanted to scratch and peel his skin off, and his hand went for his own chest when-

“Bucciarati!” He gasped when he heard his name cut through the brain fog; his vision focused back and he realized he was in his bed. Fugo, that must’ve been who called him.

“I’m fine.” Bucciarati said, almost out of habit as his Ischian dialect slipped out. He was not fine, it was obvious he was not fine, Gold Experience looked like she was holding him down mere moments ago.

Giorno.

Bucciarati looked at his kid and the first thing he could think to do was just hold him. “I saw it.” He said, his voice shaky. “I saw Requiem.”

“You called for it.” Giorno said, holding onto Bucciarati. “It was- it was the only way we were sure you weren’t dead.” He released the older man. “I didn’t ask anyone for an explanation because I was holding onto you, so I am expecting one now. Pardon my language, but what the hell was that?”

It took Bucciarati some time to get his bearings properly, still dizzy and confused. Abbacchio sat down with him even though Bucciarati could tell that he was upset. Scared for him, but upset. Mainly because he was right, and Bucciarati knew he was right. He should have told Giorno, he should have done anything other than keep all of this to himself. And as he explains what he had been dealing with for the past two years, Bucciarati can see Giorno’s eyes grow even more worried. When he recounted the events that happened to him within his state of dead-not-dead, everyone’s faces held the same gaze.

“S-So a Stand is after you,” Narancia recapped, “and Requiem is the only thing saving you?”

“I am choosing not to freak out right now despite the fact that you’re being Stand-stalked,” Fugo said, “but does this mean that for the past two years you’ve been getting attacked and this is the first time you’ve actually… seen it?”

Bucciarati nodded. “Requiem didn’t explain, it said it had no time but… but it said that you would know someone, Giorno. That you know who to call.”

The others turned to Giorno, who started to shake his head. “No I don’t know anyone I…” his voice trailed off. “Wait,” He looked to Fugo, “go get me my phone. In my dresser I keep a piece of paper with a phone number on it. Bring it here for me.” There was nothing more than a nod as Fugo left.

Abbacchio spoke next. “Did your Requiem say anything to you while you were trying to heal Bucciarati? Like talk in your head or something?”

“No.”

“What about Gold Experience?”

“No.”

“Shit, Giorno, did you get anything?”

“Abba,” Trish cut in, “stop.”

Giorno didn’t respond, which was enough of an answer. “Giorno! I don’t see it!” He turned his attention to Fugo’s voice before silently getting up and leaving the room.

Giorno had more questions than perhaps anyone else. Everyone may be afraid for Bucciarati - so is Giorno, petrified, even - but for him there was something more to this. Every single thought started with a why? Why was this happening to Bucciarati? Why was something after him? Why did Gold Experience Requiem have to protect them? And most importantly to Giorno, why didn’t it contact him before this? What is with you, Requiem? He thought in his head, but was met with no response but a small muda from Gold Experience herself. She couldn’t understand this either, much less communicate. She wasn’t as sentient as Moody Blues, much less as sentient as Requiem; she most likely didn’t even grasp what was going on. Requiem knows that, yet it never, not once tried to speak to Giorno. To hell with the rules, can’t it talk to him? Are they that unbreakable?

“If there is nothing else you can do…”

Giorno remembered the words that had been told to him before it left (presumably to that strange place). Which means that making this phone call is the answer. Requiem must be able to tell when it itself is Giorno's only option, hence why it protected Bucciarati but has not spoken to Giorno about it. He went into his room, where Fugo had his phone in his hand as Giorno dug through his dresser. He began to remember something else, one part of the only other conversation he had with this person.

“So… you coming to me was a family matter?”

“It was. I still haven’t told him, don’t worry. I keep my promises. If you want to talk to him though…”

“No thank you. I was simply curious.”

“Um, alright then! But if you ever need anything, let me know. We may not be family, but you and my friend are, and that’s close enough isn’t it?”

Giorno hadn’t replied to him that day, just taking the number on the paper and leaving. He didn’t think that he would ever need to call, even if some days he wanted to. But as he found the piece of paper and the number scrawled onto it, Giorno knew that today was the day. He walked back into Bucciarati and Abbacchio’s room as he punched in the numbers. “Who are you calling?” Narancia asked, to which Giorno didn’t respond. He doesn’t like this, talking to people he barely knows. This never makes him comfortable, and this was why Bucciarati often spoke to new people or businesses when it came to Passione matters.

He shakily pressed the dial button and put his nokia to his ear. He listened to it ring a few times before it was picked up. It was silent for a few moments before a voice in Japanese spoke to him. “Hello? Higashikata residence.” That was not the person he believed this number belonged to. Or perhaps this was the home landline and this was another member of the family. Giorno stopped, then started, then stopped again. “Hello?”

“I-Is Hirose Koichi h-home?” Giorno asked in slow and hesitant Japanese. He had picked it back up after fighting with Diavolo, and realized he knew more than he thought. He sounds very very Italian, but hopefully understandable.

“Koichi? Nah he lives down the street. I can take a message though”

Wrong number. He can't believe it. This was the wrong number. Giorno gripped the phone tighter. “Sorry for wasting your time-”

“Wait!” The man on the other end raised his voice, almost in excitement. “This is an Italian area code, looking for Koichi, you've gotta be him! Giorno Giovanna, right?”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Cause Koichi mentioned you when he came back from Italy!”

Giorno narrowed his eyes. That was suspicious. “How old is Koichi?”

“Twenty.”

“Where did we meet?”

“Naples!”

Giorno cringed at the annoying translation of the city's name. “And what happened to us?”

“Something something Black Sabbath, something something you turned his suitcase into a frog? I don't remember all the details, dude. He just told me you were family, so he gave me your number and said you might call one day and told me not to call first. I'm guessing he left that part out, huh?” Giorno heard the man step away from the phone and call out for somebody. “If you don't believe me, wait a minute on the line, Koichi'll be back soon. He had to go walk his dog, so I told Okuyasu to go get him; he hadn't gone far yet.”

“And who is Ok-Ok-”

“Okuyasu.” The man on the other end repeated the name slowly. “And he's our friend.”

“And your name?”

“I'm-” Giorno heard the door open on the other side, accompanied by a familiar voice. 

“Josuke! Is he still on the line?”

“Yeah!”

“Put me on speaker!”

“Who are we talking about?!” A third voice asked, must be Okuyasu.

“Giorno!” Koichi said, closer to the phone now. “What's wrong? You've never called.”

“Why did you give me the number of a random man?”

“He's not random!” Koichi insisted. “Josuke is- well, you two are related. I thought that if you needed something and needed to call, you'd have better luck hearing anything from him than from me.”

Giorno’s eye twitched. “And you didn't think to mention that?”

“You wouldn't call if you didn't think it was my number!” Koichi said, before sighing. “And if you're calling, then it's serious. I don't do crazy shit often, but Josuke does.”

“Hey!”

“Anyway.” Koichi continued. “My point is that Josuke would be more help to you. Unless you were calling just to call.”

“I will not call you for pleasantries.” Giorno said simply, not having time to unpack that a blood relative was on the other end of the line. “My… my father is dying.” Calling Bucciarati anything other than that right now didn't feel right. “A Stand keeps attacking him. Has been, for quite some time. I called because I assumed you might know about anyone capable of this. If not you, then perhaps your friend that brought you to me would have some answers.” There was silence on the other end of the line, and Giorno sighed. “If there isn't anything you can do, I will find another way.”

“No it's not that.” It was Josuke speaking. “Can you give us any more info?”

“Not… not over the phone.” Giorno shifts. “My occupation means I can't talk about these sorts of things outside of in person. Even giving this much information is too much of a risk.”

“Then you can come to us!”

Giorno didn't believe that he heard him right. “Pardon?”

“Come to Morioh.” Josuke said again. “We know a guy who would be way more help than just us by ourselves. Getting him here would be a lot easier than trying to get him to Italy, all things considered.”

Giorno was silent for a few moments before, “Wait.” He put the phone on mute and looked to his family. He inhaled, then spoke, returning to Italian. “To cut out a lot of information, a member of my biological family says that they might be able to help us or get us to the person who can. The only issue is that we would have to go to Japan.”

“Then some of us will stay behind.” Bucciarati said. “Abbacchio and I will come with you. How long will we have to be gone?”

“Bucciarati,” Trish spoke up, “can I speak freely?”

The man nodded. “Of course.”

“Great, because I am also speaking for Fugo here when I say this:” Trish cleared her throat. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Both Giorno and Bucciarati winced at her booming voice. “One of you is being attacked by a Stand at random hours. No offense to you Abbacchio, but Moody Blues cannot keep up a fight. And even if you're with Gio,” she pointed at him, “your safety is top priority, and you haven't been in a real Stand battle since you were 17. You're the Don, so you can't throw yourself into every fight that might happen.”

Narancia seemed to agree. “We're coming with you.”

But Giorno shook his head. “No. We still need people here. We just opened up Umbria to expand towards, all of us leaving isn't feasible.”

“Nobody will notice that most of us are gone. Bucciarati’s absence will be obvious but that's cause he's everywhere.” Narancia gestured towards Giorno. “You're rarely seen by anyone other than us, and the streets consider Abba a ghost. Fugo and Mista are… Fugo and Mista, and Trish-”

“Doesn't let her work and school life mix.” Their sister finished his sentence. “It should only be a few days, right? Get our info, stop the bad guy, and come home.”

Giorno looked to Abbacchio for any sort of backup on his idea, but the older man folded his arms. “You and Bucciarati tend to have the worst ideas, so you're on your own.”

Giorno wanted to run a hand through his hair, but didn't want to ruin his braid. “Fugo?”

“Consider me packed already.” He signed, staring at him. Giorno wanted to completely veto them, because from a business standpoint this is a terrible idea. But from an emotional, selfish standpoint, Giorno knew what he wanted.

“Fugo, go get Mista. You're the only one who can get to him right now.” Giorno didn't wait for Fugo to sign for confirmation, returning to his phone call to ask a very important question: “How soon can we meet?”

**

Jail wasn't too bad for Mista, and although he did miss daily contact already, he could understand why Polpo chose to stay locked up. When he heard that he had a visitor, Mista was sure that it would be Fugo. He was very pleased when he got it right. “Fugo! Thrown the book at them yet? You know, since I'm innocent.”

“I'm not your legal counsel, dude.” Fugo signed.

“But you will be.”

“In like three and a half years. You'll be out today anyway, you're being held without proper cause and I can always yell at them about that. Thanks for putting up with a week of it, by the way.”

Mista grinned. “It's not me who was upset about it, but the kids were.” He felt around in his soul for Sex Pistols. “Resting now, but they were going stir crazy. There’s no good food here, either.” When plans with other units of Passione don't go as planned, Mista never has a problem ending up in a less than ideal situation until Bucciarati or Giorno or Fugo sort it out. He's pretty sure he's been inside this exact cell twice already. “So did you guys fix everything?”

“More or less, but that's not why you're leaving. You're leaving because we have to take a trip.” 

Mista raised an eyebrow, “We don't vacation.”

“It's not.” 

And then Fugo told Mista everything. From the Stand attack to the dying to Giorno’s family. All Mista could say is, “Can I yell at him when we get home?”

“Only if I can first.”

Mista took off his hat just to run a hand through his short hair and put it back on. “What the fuck… Are you kidding me?”

“I wish.” 

“So he- does he not trust us?!” Fugo shrugged, and Mista knew he was holding in a lot. Mista decided not to push him any closer to exploding (they could do that when both of them cornered their dad) and just sighed. “Alright, just get me out of here. We'll talk more in the car.”

Like Fugo said, it took no time at all for Mista to be out of the cell, his belongings returned to him as he got in the car with Fugo. He took the time to think as Fugo drove them back. Should he rip into Bucciarati? I mean, he's old enough to do so. They've all ripped into each other for one reason or another, so he could. But then he thought about how Bucciarati might be right now: distraught, hell, he was probably even scared but wasn't going to mention it. After all, there's no time to be scared when someone is determined to kill you and gets closer and closer every time.

But when they got home, all Mista could do was walk into the room and hug Bucciarati. He wondered if anyone had put their hand on his skin yet, because Fugo didn't mention that Bucciarati felt cold. Alive, yes, but not as warm as a human should feel.

There were a few beats of stunned rigidness from the older man, before the returned the hug. “Never,” Mista said, low so only Bucciarati could hear, “never do that again.”

“I won't.” They both knew what the gunslinger was talking about.

“You have to swear, Bruno.” His first name, names that are rarely used between most of them, something said primarily by Trish and no one else. “At least to me.”

There was only silence, and Mista feels like he should've expected that. How could Bucciarati promise to let people in like that when he's spent so much of his life keeping people out? Mista let him go, and focused back on their main goal. Mista looked to his other boss. “Fugo filled me in. How long do you think we'll be gone?”

“A week at the absolute most.” Giorno responded. “That should be enough time for us to sort out what we need to do in Japan.” Mista nodded, making a list of everything he'd need to pack for the week. “Fugo told you the travel situation, right?”

“Three of us go first and then the last four, but who is going when?”

“Bucciarati, Giorno, and I.” Abbacchio spoke up. “And the three of you will protect La Principessa Mafiosa on the second flight.”

Mista turned to Trish and grinned. “Travel buddies.”

“Shut it, Guido.” But out of all of the kids, these two have traveled together the most. (Well, other than Giorno and Mista, but that's because Mista is literally his bodyguard.) “They'll leave in two days. We'll leave the next day on the 25th.”

“So give me your gun before we leave, Mista.” Bucciarati said. “You can't fly with it.” Mista sighed, but nodded. He'd heard that traveling was more of a headache nowadays since something or another happened back in ‘01.

Narancia clapped his hands together. “Then in that case, we gotta pack up and get our shit together. We're going to Japan.” He had one of his telltale grins on his face that Mista had missed in the past week. “You can’t die till I’m off your life insurance.”

**

Josuke stared at the phone in his hand, the shock was now setting in. “I… that was real, right? I didn't hallucinate that entire conversation?”

“Totally real,” Koichi answered, “and that was totally your relative Giorno saying that he would see you in two days.”

Okuyasu scratched the back of his neck. “Josuke, how is he related to you?”

“Hell if I know. Koichi?”

“I don't know all the way, since he's Dio's kid. All Mr. Jotaro said was that he was related to the Joestars. But maybe… you know, it's an adoptive thing?” Family is family to Josuke, adoptive or otherwise. “Giorno doesn't really know either, you're the first person he's ever spoken to from his family.”

“Hmm…” Okuyasu sat down next to Josuke, "what was the Giorno kid like? Wait, how old even is he?”

“Two years younger than us. So he's like 19-ish. I don't know when his birthday is. He's a… hm…” Koichi furrowed his eyebrows, and Josuke raised one of his.

“What? Can't describe him?”

“Cut me some slack! I didn't know him all that well and we were kinda busy almost dying! All I can say is that he's private I guess, he didn't call you for three years. He isn't a bad person, though, so you don't need to worry about that.” Koichi plopped down on Josuke's other side. “I guess that we’ll figure it all out when he gets here, won't we?”

Josuke didn't respond out loud and nodded. He felt like something like this was bound to happen to him sooner or later, it had been a few years now since that summer, and Joestars are supposed to have weird bizarre things happen to them. He supposes this is his second go around with weird family moments. All that's left now is to call Jotaro, and hope that this can be solved smoothly. Or at least as smooth as one can when there's Stand Users involved.

Chapter Text

Giorno was in a dark room, or maybe underwater. There was a swordfish swimming in the air above him, along with other, much smaller fish around it. There was a bright light far above both of them.

He knew he was dreaming, Giorno always does. He feels fuzzy, strange, tired even though he was asleep. This was par for the course, and is suprisingly quite pleasant.

“Do you like the fish? You went to the aquarium recently.”

Giorno turned, and the nice feeling that his dreams gave him disappeared entirely. In its place was the same feeling that he had whenever it was time to work. Why was that? Because Requiem, his Requiem was here. “Hello, Giorno-”

“Now you believe that it's time to show up?” Giorno was irked. “After Bucciarati had already been attacked for the past two years? And you thought that showing me some fish would smooth things over?”

“I understand that you might be upset-” Giorno manifested a rock in his hand and threw it at his Stand. Was that childish? Perhaps. “-but I could not talk to you.”

“Oh but you can now?” Giorno stared at it.

“Of course. You're extremely upset, which fulfills one of our conditions.”

“Our conditions?” Giorno scoffed. “Those conditions are yours alone. And my family has been in danger for years, which is another condition, so why not come to me then?” He folded his arms. “Why now?”

“Because I had to prioritize protecting Bucciarati over speaking to you. I was hoping these issues would not leak into the world above, but now they have. And because of that, I have come to you now to tell you that you're on the right path. The enemy doesn't want you to meet these people, which means that this is the right move.”

“You know our enemy?” Giorno narrowed his eyes. “You did not think to start with that?!”

“I do not know the User, only the Stand.” Requiem looked around. “She will realize I am gone soon, and might follow me to you. I must go.”

Giorno almost laughed sarcastically. “And you showing up was just so helpful.” There was that sarcasm that he developed both from getting older as well as from being around Abbacchio.

But Requiem was quiet. It was clear that it had something to say, but chose not to. Instead, it settled for this. “You're different now.”

“I grew up.”

Silence again. Then. “You have, haven't you?”

“Do you grow up?”

“I suppose not.” Requiem answered. “I lack anyone to grow up with.” It looked to the light at the top of this place. “This is goodbye for now.”

“For now?”

“Until you need me on your side of this fight.”

Giorno woke up with a slight jitter, his eyes quickly darting around as he remembered where he was: on a plane. “You okay?” Bucciarati looked down at the boy leaning against his shoulder. Giorno nodded. He looked out the window, they'd be landing soon, he could tell. It was around three PM, right on schedule.

He'd meet Josuke. And Jotaro. And anyone else who might be helpful. His family, his birth family. It must be his mother's side if they're from Japan, but he wondered why she never told him about any of them. Maybe she didn't care, maybe they cut her off. Maybe they all thought he would be dangerous, and that's why Koichi was sent to follow him. Or maybe, just maybe, everything was a coincidence and he was found by chance.

“Giorno?”

“Do you think they'll like me? My family?” He asked, loud enough for Bucciarati to hear, but not loud enough to expect an answer.

Unbeknownst to Giorno, Bucciarati had been asked the same question. And also unbeknownst to Giorno, he had said that her father would love her anyway, because what father wouldn't love his daughter?

“If they are even half as good of a person you are,” Bucciarati answered as they prepared to get off the plane, “then I am sure they will.”

If they're good people. 

Giorno hopes they are.

“Giorno,” Abbacchio grabbed all of their carry-on bags, “can you read anything here?”

Oh right. Can he read anything? “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Josuke said we would know Mr. Kujo when we see him. He's tall, wears white a lot and… looks like Mr. Kujo.” Abbacchio gave him a look, and Giorno gave one right back. Giorno doesn't know what Kujo Jotaro looks like, and Josuke didn't give much of a description for himself or the man. But after looking around the gate, all three of them quickly realized what it meant to look like Kujo Jotaro. Even taller than Abbacchio, his white jacket and matching hat made him stand out, but it was the ocean eyes that made Giorno know that he was the person they were looking for. 

And strangely, Giorno couldn't move. He wasn't scared per say, but every thought that he had on the plane came rushing back to him tenfold. Every ‘what if’ possible was running through his head, each one of them jumbled and confusing within his own mind.

“Kid.”

The thoughts ceased, and Giorno didn't need to look up at Abbacchio to know that he knew what was happening in Giorno's head at that moment. “Ready?” Giorno took a moment to quickly inhale, then forced his feet over to the man.

“Mr. Kujo?” Giorno said in Japanese, holding out his hand for a handshake. “I am Giorno Giovanna, Josuke mentioned that you and him would be here to pick us up.” He gestured towards the two he traveled with. “This is Bruno Bucciarati, and this is Leone Abbacchio.” He looked around. “Is Josuke here?”

“He's with the car.” Jotaro responded, giving a barely there nod towards the others. “Do they speak Japanese?” The man asked, beginning to walk towards baggage. Giorno picked up his pace to follow him. “Only I do.”

“English?”

“Most of us are able to understand it, speaking is an issue for about half of us.” 

Jotaro didn't say anything else after that, and waited for them to get their luggage. When they grabbed all of their suitcases, Bucciarati was the next person to ask a question. “Mr. Kujo, where are we going now?” Giorno noticed that as they were talking, Abbacchio had already disappeared, luggage left behind that Bucciarati had since grabbed. 

Jotaro seemed aware of the missing man, but proceeded to respond. “I was going to transport you to the hotel to hear your problem, but we all need to understand each other first.” He didn’t elaborate, and Giorno and Bucciarati shared a look. Giorno felt like he could trust the man, but not completing any of his thoughts for the rest of them doesn't really help.

They step outside of the airport, where Abbacchio was leaning against a support beam. He glanced at Giorno. “Nobody followed us that I could find.” He looked back at the airport. “But we never know, so let's make haste, yeah?” He stood up straighter, taking his luggage from Bucciarati before speaking to Jotaro in English. “So… where is the other one?”

Jotaro pointed down the parking lot, “His car is over here.” The four of them walked silently to the car, where they were met with an empty driver's seat. Josuke was gone, and Giorno saw Jotaro's face slightly contort. Giorno could tell that this wasn't right.

“Where is he?” Giorno questioned, immediately on edge. Had someone already found them? What if someone wasn't following them to Japan, but the others to the airport? Jotaro called the man's phone, and Giorno could just barely hear over the cars and people speaking. Giorno looked up at Jotaro before pointing to the right. “Is that it?” Jotaro listened, not saying a word as they walked towards the sound.

The ringtone was coming from a motorola in the back of a pocket attached to a man. His clothing was a purple jacket and a pair of pants along with a yellow graphic shirt, and all of it looked expensive. What stuck out the most was the pompadour sitting perfectly on the top of his head. He heard Abbacchio mutter in Italian, “The fuck's going on with his hair?” 

“Sorry Jotaro,” Josuke said, eyes trained down on the ground, “but this snake was by the car. I don’t really like reptiles but like… it’s gonna get run over if it stays in the parking lot. I’m almost done, just trying to get him in the bushes.” Giorno looked at the snake, and was unable to keep the small smile off of his face. The feat was earnest, even if unnecessary. Giorno thinks that he himself would be doing the same thing if he had the time. He lightly kicked a rock with his foot, turning it into a garden snake that was the same breed as the one Josuke was helping. It seemed to get the real snake interested, and the two of them slithered off into the greenery. Josuke grinned, “Damn! Wasn’t that lucky, huh, Jotaro…” His voice trailed off, realizing who was with him. “You’re…”

“Giorno Giovanna.” Giorno held out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Josuke went right past the handshake, going for a hug that made Giorno widen his eyes and Bucciarati stand in front of him. He didn’t say a word, but it was enough for Josuke to back off. He glanced at Giorno from over Bucciarati’s shoulder. “Do I need to use English?”

“Yes.”

“They still won’t be able to get around in Morioh,” Jotaro stepped in as they made it back to the car, “so we need to all understand one another in order to hear the full story.”

Josuke seemed to know what the older man was referring to, and groaned. “Oh come on!” He grumbled a little more before fishing the keys out of his pocket and tossing them to Jotaro. “You’re driving, then.” 

**

Giorno didn’t realize he was staring until he and Josuke made eye contact in the back seat. Giorno was sandwiched between him and Bucciarati, with Abbacchio in the front. The entire car ride had been silent, with Giorno looking at the windows as the sky seemed to take on a yellow-ish colour the further out of the big city they got. Signs would go past, but Giorno wasn't adept enough to be able to read them. 

“I have something on my face?”

Giorno blinked, it dawned on him that he still hadn’t stopped looking at Josuke. “Pardon? Oh no I just… you’re different than what I expected.”

“The same could be said about you. You’re the first of us guys to be blonde.” 

Giorno almost cracked a smile, almost. Josuke was kind, he didn't need to know him long to determine that. He didn't chastise Giorno’s Japanese, the way it was slow, different, and so foreign. There was something about Josuke, something Giorno has never gotten from someone within a first meeting: even when first meeting his team. Giorno felt like he could trust him.

They arrived at a nice looking house in the suburbs as Giorno looked out the window. “Welcome to my least favourite place in Morioh.” Josuke said, his face turning into a scowl as he got out of the car. 

Bucciarati looked up at the house, “Nice place.” He said in English, getting out. Giorno got out of the car last, looking around. The door to the house was thrown open, and a man came out. Giorno recognized the man vaguely: green hair and a headband, expensive clothes and pen earrings. Narancia reads this guy's work.

“Higashikata Josu-”

“Rohan.” Jotaro didn't even let the mangaka get his words out. “Heaven’s Door needs to write Japanese into all of their brains.”

“Giorno, what are they talking about?” Bucciarati asked. Giorno didn't respond, putting a hand out in order for him to wait. Clearly this is about some sort of Stand, but what exactly remains to be seen.

“What's in it for me?” Rohan asked. “I already have that thing on my property,” He glanced at Josuke, “and that's bad enough. So what do I get?”

“Brains to pick around in.”

“What.” Giorno stares at the three men, very ready to back out of this. “What do you mean pick our brains?”

Josuke introduced them. “Rohan, Giorno. Giorno, Rohan. You both have being Koichi's friend in common so can you please just do this?”

“Can somebody explain to me-”

“Is this the Italian that Koichi was looking for? He showed me the picture but I thought he had black hair.”

“Oi!” Giorno slammed his fist down onto the hood of Josuke's car, denting it. “Somebody better tell me what Mr. Kujo meant or so help me god…” Giorno took a breath. He doesn't like getting worked up, but he also can't stand repeating himself. “I am not in the mood to ask again. There is a life at stake and I am already risking six by bringing them all to a strange country with strange people that I do not know. So explain your Stand, Mr. Rohan, before I give you a demonstration of my own for wasting my time.” 

The party of people were dead silent. Rohan stared at him. “Huh, Stand Users. That makes this all the more interesting. Heaven's Door opens someone's brain to write or read anything. I can write in ‘cannot attack Kishibe Rohan’ or in your friend's cases, ‘fluent in all aspects of the Japanese language’.”

“And the reading?”

“Well… I'm in your brain, I can see things.”

“Don't read 2001.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Then make it work.” Giorno looked at his people. “We're going in.”

Giorno was constantly looking around once they were inside of Rohan's house. There was interesting artwork, but outside of that it was very barebones. Nothing that gave off his personality, nothing that allowed Giorno to figure out Rohan, other than the fact that he and Josuke didn't like one another.

“So, who am I writing into?” Rohan questioned, summoning his Heaven's Door. 

Giorno pointed to the three Italians. Although he could speak it, that wouldn't be enough if they were going to be here for some time. “Add English as well for Abbacchio.”

“I can speak English, Giovanna.” Abbacchio murmured, speaking it at the moment. Giorno wanted to digress the semantics over Abbacchio's full understanding of the language, but chose not to.

“Very well. Just Japanese. Trish, Narancia, and Mista will need fluent English, then.”

Rohan's eyes seemed to sparkle now that he would have access to their brains. “There will be more of you?”

“You cannot read 2001 inside of their minds either.”

The mangaka rolled his eyes. “Keep your secrets. I'll make this quick, who wants to go first?” Bucciarati stepped forward, and Giorno watched as Heaven’s Door opened up Bucciarati’s brain. It made his head look like a book, and Abbacchio looked like he was going to say something, at least until Bucciarati looked unharmed. Rohan seemed to deflate. “It's all in Italian. There goes my free inspiration.” The Stand wrote into Bucciarati’s brain, and Giorno saw the writing turn from Japanese into Italian, settling into the strange, magnified version of Bucciarati’s thoughts and feelings.

With the snap of Bucciarati’s head closing shut, Rohan was finished with him. “Next.” Abbacchio walked up and once more, a head was popped open. Rohan raised an eyebrow. “French mother, Italian father. Died when you were fourtee- ack!” Moody Blues had been summoned, kicking him in the back. Giorno saw some of Abbacchio's manga brain - parts were in French, and that must be what Rohan was reading.

“You ever had the courtesy to keep information to yourself?” Abbacchio looked down at him. “If I were a worse man, I'd just kill you. You're lucky that I have grown and changed as a person.”

Rohan coughed, getting back on his feet. “Duly noted.” He finished writing into Abbacchio's head, before doing the same to Giorno. “You already know Japanese.”

“Not well enough. Now, if you don't mind.” The language was scribbled into his mind, and Giorno felt the change immediately. He didn't need to really think about speaking the language, it became a part of him. He looked at Rohan and gave a nod. “Thank you. I do not like being indebted to anyone, what do we owe you?”

“Let me listen to whatever you're going to say.” Giorno raised an eyebrow, and Josuke looked confused.

“How did you know we had something to talk about?”

Rohan scoffed. “It was obvious. If you needed me even though you had someone who already spoke Japanese, then there must be something interesting to talk about. Besides, inspiration is more important to me than money. So,” he took a seat on his couch, “what's what?”

They sat down and let Bucciarati speak on his case; from the past two years to now, and the feelings he feels whenever it comes for him. “...and it's a Stand attacking me, according to Gold Experience Requiem.”

“Wait.” Josuke stopped him. “A Requiem Stand?” He looked at Jotaro, who seemed to be listening. “Isn't that…”

“What Polnareff and I were chasing down. The Arrows.”

“There's just one that can bring out Requiems.” Giorno clarified. “Or was, rather.”

The older man's browser furrowed. “What happened to it?”

“...I kept it for a year in its original form. Then I turned it into a cactus, and hid it.”

Josuke widened his eyes. “You can do that?”

Giorno nodded. “But back to what we need to discuss. Mr. Jotaro, do you know what… if there is anything that we can do?”

There was silence, and only Rohan looking between anything. Giorno felt his heart thump harder. There has to be something, there must be something. This is the right path, after all. It won't be easy but they-

“No.” Jotaro eventually said. “I haven't heard of a stand like this. I didn't even know there was a place that Stands went.”

Giorno looked over at Bucciarati, who currently had an unreadable look on his face. What Giorno didn’t miss was the way he was zipping and unzipping his palm. Although he knows that Bucciarati would simply say that he appreciated the attempt, that was not enough for Giorno. He was not going to just give up, thank them for their time, and say goodbye.

He has worked too damn hard to keep everyone alive for someone else to try and take this away.

“Requiem said that I needed to go to you.” Giorno declined Jotaro's no through that sentence. He had gotten himself all the way here, and they would see this through.

Jotaro seemed intrigued at the mention of speaking to the Stand. “Requiems are sentient?”

“I assume they all would be.” It dawned on Giorno that there were probably only two Requiem Stands in the world, and now just one. “They know things… more than us I believe. But Requiem Stands are bound to conditions, not their Users. It couldn't tell me everything, and I don't have access to it, but it said that she didn't want us meeting. I assumed that meant you would know something.”

“Why don't you have access to it?” Josuke questioned, tilting its head. 

“Like I said: conditions. Even just seeing it in my dreams requires conditions to be met apparently.” 

“I can't imagine being without my Stand- are you guys the type to keep your Stands hidden?”

“I normally am.” Abbacchio murmured. “Unless someone needs to get kicked.” He stared into Rohan's soul (or lack thereof) until Bucciarati touched his wrist.

“We are.” Bucciarati answered. “It's necessary for our line of work.”

“What is said line of work, anyway? You had to come all the way here because you couldn't say it over the phone, what are you guys, like gangsters or something?” Josuke laughed at his own joke, until he slowly realized that his joke was not a joke. “You're kidding.”

“We are not.”

“You're part of the fuckin’ mob?! ” 

Abbacchio seemed entertained with this turn of events. “Surprise.”

“So are you guys rich?”

“I think we're getting off track.” Giorno said before anyone could answer him. “The point is, I am supposed to talk to you, I'm supposed to meet both of you. So somebody here must know something.”

“Not necessarily.” Bucciarati spoke up. “Mr. Kujo, you are colleagues with Polnareff, aren't you? After he left Italy, he said that he would be returning to the people he had left behind. When was the last time you had contact with him?”

“I last spoke with him in 1991, and had seen him in person the year before. He wouldn't have gone to see the others…” Jotaro trailed off, thinking to himself. Wherever Polnareff was, he was off the grid again. Being alone must suit him. 

“I think I understand what your Stand was trying to say.” Josuke raised his hand. “Jotaro might not know everything, but he pretty much knows everyone. If it knows things, and Jotaro knows people, maybe it's through the people that we can figure out how to save Mr. Bucciarati. You've got like three friends and a ton of contacts, surely one of them knows something.”

“I have more than three” Jotaro replied.

“Eh? Like who?” Josuke was pointed at. “I don't count, we're related.”

Giorno remembered something then. Something he'd wanted to ask, but couldn't find the time. Perhaps now, while they’re already waiting… “How are we related? You, Josuke, and I? Are you my mother's cousins?”

Josuke and Jotaro went quiet then, not responding for a few moments. “We don't know your mother.” Jotaro then answered. “We are related to you from your father.”

“My father?” Giorno fished out his wallet. He showed them the photo, solely of his father's back and hair. “This man, this is who you both are related to? Is he still alive?”

Surely he was dead, surely his father wouldn't have left him with that woman if he was alive. He had to have gotten his kindness from someone, because it was definitely not from her.

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to any of those questions?” Jotaro answered his question with another question, something Giorno usually can't stand. But this was different. “Because if I answer any of those questions, you might feel the need to leave.”

Now it was Giorno who was quiet. Will his father disappoint him? Did he really leave? If so, it's not the worst thing ever. Heartbreaking, but his mother doesn't even check up on him despite them still living in the same city as one another. He doesn't like not knowing things, and he needs to know this more than anything. He looked at Bucciarati and Abbacchio, both of whom gave him a nod. They don't know a lot about Giorno’s family, mainly because Giorno doesn't know a lot about them either. This was what he wanted. And maybe, just maybe, somehow this is what Requiem was also leading him towards.

“Whatever it is,” Giorno decided, “I will hear all of it.” He needed to. This was for himself.

Jotaro nodded and stood up, indicating that he wanted Giorno to follow him. They stepped out onto Rohan's porch, and once the door closed, the older man began to speak. “Are you familiar with the stone masks?”

Giorno nodded. “We had a deal with a certain organization about them. Although why do I feel like you already knew that?”

“The organization was The Speedwagon Foundation, and I did. Your father was a man named Dio Brando, and he was one of the first people in the modern era to use those masks. It turned him into a vampire, and that was back in the 1800s.” Jotaro paused as if to let that sink in for Giorno, but there were no sinks to be had right now.

All Giorno could say was. “What else?”

“He developed a Stand at some point after stealing my great-great-grandfather's body.”

Oh the sink was most definitely not being let in now. Absolutely none of that is sinking in.

“Pardon?!” If that wasn't the most insane thing Giorno had ever heard in his entire life, then he doesn't know what is. “That's not- you made that up.”

“I'm surprised you didn't hear any of this from Polnareff, he used to always jump at the chance to talk about his stories.”

Giorno remembered the Frenchman in the few months he stayed with them. He knew that the stone masks were capable of turning people into something different than themselves, but he didn’t think it was this tied to him. “Mr. Polnareff never spoke about his past. Just that he had a friend. Only today did I realize that it was you.”

Jotaro didn't comment on that, but had a look in his eyes for just a moment. “You, Josuke, and I are related through the bodies of both Jonathan and Dio. So technically, you have two fathers.”

Right. Okay. Giorno now has four dads and one mom. Sure, whatever. He is choosing to just ignore the way all of this is eating at him right now. “I am assuming that he was the enemy, wasn’t he? If he used a stone mask, then he was corrupted by evil. What became of him if… he is still alive.”

“He was killed in 1989.”

He should have assumed so. “Do you know who did it?”

Jotaro nodded, looking Giorno in the eyes. “When I was seventeen, his very existence was killing my mother. That was enough for me and my friends to set out to find him.”

Giorno held up his hand, not wanting him to continue. He understood the rest. Him or her, and there was obviously only one correct answer. But that led Giorno down this path, that’s why he’s here now. “Would you have killed him if you knew that I existed?”

“You would not have wanted to follow down the path that Dio would have set for you.”

Giorno wanted to ask more, there were more questions that he had, yet he didn’t. He got his answer, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Giorno is used to familial disappointment at this point in his life; it’s all he had until he was 15. He bowed slightly to Jotaro. “Thank you for answering my questions.” He raised up. “I am glad Mrs. Kujo is safe.”

“Holly.”

“Holly.” Giorno repeated. Another family member. Giorno wishes he could meet her, but he knows that it won’t happen. Especially when his current family is strapped up in its own battle. Giorno shakes off the thoughts. As edgy as it sounds, he doesn’t have time to be thinking this way. He got his answers, now he can’t dwell on anything else.

“There is someone,” Jotaro announced as he and Giorno returned to the house, “a friend of mine.”

“A friend from then?” Giorno questioned as Bucciarati and Abbacchio stood up.

Jotaro nodded. “When your other members arrive, we will all meet him together. I need to contact him and make sure that he’s currently in the country.”

“They should arrive in the early morning.” Bucciarati said. “We can meet during the daylight hours.”

“I’ll keep you updated.”

“And keep me updated!” Rohan said, a notebook that he didn’t have before in his grasp. “You all are too interesting.”

Josuke gave him a look. “Stop being weird.”

“I might just write into your head that you’re unable to insult me.”

“Do you want to die?”

“You already almost killed me when you set my house on fire.”

Josuke looked at the others before looking back to Rohan. “That was your fault!”

“... Get out.”

“Gladly.” Josuke stood up. “We are done here. I’m driving.” Giorno chose not to mention to Josuke that they would most likely need to use his car to get back to Rohan’s home again tomorrow. 

**

“I’m going to go into my room,” Jotaro said as they arrived, “if you need anything, I’m on the sixth floor.” Jotaro didn’t say anything else, leaving the car with his luggage. Giorno wondered what a man like him tends to think about. Someone, quiet and unreadable like him, yet he can tell that the man has a lot on his mind.

Giorno saw someone familiar waiting for them at the entrance to the hotel. He wasn’t in that uniform that they had met in before, but Giorno doesn’t forget important people. “Koichi!”

The young man looked up, grinning when he spotted him. “Giorno!” He waved, running over. “Long time no see! I hope that you still aren’t mad at me for giving you Josuke’s number.”

The blonde couldn’t help but smile at him. “You have been forgiven. How did you know we were going to be here?”

“Well, like everyone stays at the Morioh Grand, so it wasn’t hard to guess where you were.” He glanced over Giorno’s shoulder. “And also someone might have told me where you would be.”

Giorno looked back at Josuke, who just waved. Giorno resisted the urge to roll his eyes, choosing to gesture towards Bucciarati and Abbacchio. “This is Abbacchio and Bucciarati, they’re my fathers.”

Koichi gave them a small smile. “Nice to meet you both, were you able to find your answers?”

“We didn’t find what we were expecting. We will be here for a little while longer.”

“Nice!” Koichi widened his eyes when he realized how that sounded. “Wait, I mean not nice for you guys but… I’m glad to get to see you. If you have any time after all of this, maybe we can talk? We have three years of stuff to catch up on.”

Giorno could say yes and take the route that he would love, he could say no which is the reasonable answer; the moment they complete their mission they should go home. But instead, “We’ll see.”

That seemed to be enough for Koichi to be satisfied, and he smiled before walking to Josuke’s car. “I know you’ll win, but good luck anyway!”

“Thank you.” Giorno gave a small wave before the three of them turned away.

“And Giorno?” The blonde looked back at Koichi in the back of the car. “You can always call me for pleasantries!” Giorno didn’t get to say anything as Josuke drove off, and they walked into the hotel.

The three of them would be staying in the same room, Giorno in his own bed while the two fruits (Narancia calls them that all the time) would take the other of course. He glanced at the two of them as he took his hair down. “Go on, ask.”

Bucciarati looked like he didn’t want to, but Abbacchio did not care. “So what did you find out?”

“My father is actually two fathers but the main father is named Dio and Jotaro killed him because he is - was - a vampire and was evil.” Both of the men stared at him. “Please don’t ask me to explain.”

They didn’t, instead giving their kid the wise words of: “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Giorno laid back on his bed unceremoniously. “Could be worse, Jotaro and Josuke could be evil, too.”

Abbacchio, ever the pessimist, spoke next. “How do you know that they’re not lying?”

“I can tell. I don’t know how but… it’s the truth.” Giorno wouldn’t chalk this trust up to being part of the same family, but it was there and it was real. “I don’t really care about not understanding it all,” Giorno lied, “I’m more focused on saving you, Bucciarati. That’s my mission: saving the family that matters.”

Bucciarati wanted to say something else, but didn’t. “We’ll figure it out. You said it yourself, Requiem wants us here.”

“And someone else doesn’t.” Abbacchio added. “One way or another, that Stand’s User knew our intention.”

“Because Requiem made a mistake.” Bucciarati answered. “When that Stand was coming to me, Requiem told me to relay what I did to Giorno. Our enemy knows the others somehow, and knows what they are capable of.”

“So we can expect another attack soon.” Giorno finished up grimly.

“We should have some time.” Bucciarati insisted, standing up and looking out the window before drawing the curtains shut, “Normally there’s weeks in between the attacks.”

Giorno did not want to lax up, though. How would they know? What if another happens when Bucciarati is asleep? “I will stay awake,” the don decided, “just in case. That way I can heal you until Requiem can get you out.”

“There is no chance that you are depriving yourself.” Abbacchio shut that down quickly. “Did you forget that you’re still one of Passione’s heads? I’ll watch the two of you. Or we will, rather.” Abbacchio summoned Moody Blues, who beeped at Bucciarati, worried written all over her immovable eyes. “And don’t worry, we both care about him more than we worry about waking you up. Anything changes, you’ll be on the clock.”

Giorno knew he didn’t have a choice in this matter, any real choice, anyway. Pulling rank would do him no good when he knows Abbacchio can and will (and has taken the initiative to) knock him out if it means he’ll sleep. “Very well. I’ll shower first.” He was about to go into the bathroom, when he felt shivers down his spine. He looked back at the two men, as if to make sure that they were still there. Of course they were there, nothing bad would happen within seven seconds. That’s not how things work.

But then he remembered how quickly Narancia was almost taken from them, and looked back again.

“Kid,” Abbacchio’s voice cut through the air, “We’re going to make it.”

Giorno just nodded solemnly, forcing himself into the bathroom and shutting the door. They will make it. At the very least, they’ll make it through the night. They have to.

Chapter Text

Trish knew that there was a Stand User on this plane, she could feel it. She's felt it this entire flight, which rendered her practically unable to sleep.

“You should look for them.” Spice Girl said in her head.

“That's the plan.” Trish whispered back.

“You going crazy?” Narancia leaned onto her shoulder. Clearly she wasn't quiet enough, sandwiched between said boy and Mista for her own protection, the Principessa wasn’t allowed to sit at the aisle nor the window seat. It was unfortunate, Trish wanted to see Japan as they landed. And to make it worse, no first class on this incredibly long flight. What’s the point of dirty money if they can’t use it for the greater good? (The greater good is Trish’s comfort.)

“I was talking to Spice.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Hello, Narancia.”

“She said hi. Anyway, there’s a User on board.”

Her words got Mista’s attention as he looked away from the window, “Huh?”

“I can feel it.” Trish insisted.

“Hey, I believe you,” Mista said, “but do you realize where we are? Your spidey-senses go off even when we're in large spaces, so this is the worst place for you to be. And for all we know, the Stand User is harmless. They have to fly too, you know. People have places they need to be, and some Stand Users are the good guys,” he pointed his thumb at himself, “like us.”

“But still,” the nineteen year old glanced out into the aisle, “what if it’s not?”

“Who would we even be looking for? The Stand User could be anyone.”

“I’ll find out.” Trish decided, closing her fashion magazine and standing up.

Narancia immediately took issue with that and yanked her back down into her seat. “Not a chance. Bucciarati and Abbacchio and Giorno told us that you’re our priority. If you’re right, what are you even gonna do?”

“Well, considering that I’m the only person who has won a fight on a plane, I’ll do better than you. Fugo would kill all of us, and you two have bullets.”

“That still doesn’t answer me.”

“You know it’s a problem when Narancia’s neurons activate faster than yours.”

“Whose side are you on?” Trish whispered to her Stand. “You told me to look for them!”

“I told you to look for them, not fight them. You’re on a plane, Trish.” Spice Girl responded, and Trish huffed.

“Fine, then I’ll look .” She said pointedly, standing back up only for Narancia to get up after her.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Fugo can come with me,” she looked at her brother who was in the aisle seat in front of them, “right?” Fugo met her gaze and nodded. They walked to the other end of the plane to the bathroom that was farther away. “You think I'm overreacting?” She questioned her brother as she looked through the rows of seats as she took her time to get to the bathroom. Nobody looked suspicious, but she supposes people rarely do. Even they were in what they'd rarely wear: comfortable baggy clothes that made them look like everyone else.

“You've never been wrong about it,” Fugo responded, “and I don't think you'll start now. We'll take a better look when we're on the ground.” Trish could only nod and get into the bathroom.

As she used it (she did actually need to go) Spice Girl released herself. “Don't do it.”

“I'm not doing anything,” Trish folded her arms, “and would it kill you to wait for me to finish?”

“I can feel you debating on using me. What am I going to do? Punch a hole in the plane, killing us all?”

“What?! How stupid do you think I am?”

“You can be when you get like this.” 

“...I was going to have you fake punch people until we got a reaction and then beat the crap out of them.” Spice Girl stared at her, unblinking. “Well it sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“That’s because it is stupid, Trish.” Her Stand said plainly.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Trish glared, but Spice kept carried on. “You’re only like this because you’re anxious, and when you're anxious you make bad decisions: like fake punching people with me.” The Stand leaned against the wall. “You think something bad is going to happen to Bucciarati between now and you landing?”

“You don't? I know you're a walking ball of apathy but still.”

“It's not my job to worry about them. My job is to make sure you don't make rash decisions, and use me to your fullest. Besides, Bucciarati has died at least twenty times now if we think about it, and he's come back every time. Statistically speaking, he’ll be fine. So let's pull up our pants, sit back down and wait. You of all people should know the importance of patience. Especially on planes.” Trish knows that, but this wasn’t like that fight. She isn’t panicking, she isn’t scared, she just…

“I hate being helpless,” she admitted to her Stand, and by proxy, herself, “and that’s all I feel right now.”

“Well, you’re not.” Spice Girl said as Trish finished up and washed your hands. “Right now, you’re just on a plane, getting ready to do everything you can to protect the people you love. Maybe the Stand User on this plane is harmful, maybe they’re not. We won’t find out in the air. Even if they’re not the enemy, don’t you think someone would fight back against some random person who decided to punch them?” She held Trish’s wrist before she walked away. “Patience will get you far. Rushing will get you detained when we land.”

Trish simply nodded, not wanting to say anything as she returned her Stand to her soul. Fugo looked at her as she walked out, “Good talk?”

“You could hear it?”

“Only near the end.”

“Oh so only the most important part, great that makes me feel so much better.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to have a kumbaya with Spice in a tiny airplane bathroom.” Fugo shrugged. “But you’re right to feel helpless. That’s how I felt every time I couldn’t use Purple Haze because I could accidentally kill everyone. It was like being trapped on a plane, but all the time.”

“And now?”

“Now…” Fugo thought for a few moments as they got closer to their seats. “Now I just look for a way off the plane, and figure the rest out on the fly.” He sat back down into his seat, and Trish got behind him.

Mista looked at her. “You good?”

“Just peachy.” She replied before pulling out her eye mask and deciding to try and get some sleep. Patience, patience. If that's what she needed, then Trish was going to be the most patient person of all time.

**

Trish does not understand the concept of packing light, well, at least not compared to the three boys with her. She blinked at them as she realized she was the only one who needed to go to baggage. “That was all you brought?” She was referring to Mista's single duffle bag, Narancia's backpack, and Fugo's mini suitcase. “We're gonna be gone for a week.”

“Yeah, one week,” Fugo said, “seems like it was a bit much to bring four suitcases, huh?”

“It was two, thank you. And you never know what you might need.” Trish insisted. “You three can wait up here. Keep watch. A Mr. Kujo Jotaro is going to be here, right? Someone needs to be here to let him know where we are. You have the picture, right Fugo?”

Fugo nodded. “Be safe.”

“It’s just baggage. That’s like… the worst place to fight.” Trish turned and walked away (thank god for English signs). None of her brothers followed her, which was perfect. All was going according to her plan.

What was said plan? One made of patience, because she can still feel the Stand User. Her little talent was what was left over from being able to sense Diavolo those years ago, and she was going to use it to lure their attacker (and it's an attacker, she's sure of it) somewhere else.

Trish remained acutely aware of her surroundings as she made her way to the baggage carriage. She looked around, the feeling remaining within her. The issue with her little ability is that it doesn't get stronger the closer someone gets. Once they're within close enough proximity, the feeling remains the same. She just has to wait for the right time, which is based on her own intuition. “Spice.” She whispered.

“I've got it. Tell me when.” 

Trish reached down for her first suitcase, remaining extremely calm. She grabbed her second one and began to walk. Only then, once she's far enough, Trish knew it was the right time. “When.” Spice Girl swung just as Trish turned around. Spice had connected with the face of a pale-pink haired man, breaking his glasses. For a stunned moment, Trish thought that she had gotten the wrong person. There was no Stand attack, and this guy? He looked older than her but… he looked like a nerd. He even had those brown sweater vests that Fugo sometimes wears. Before Trish could apologize for punching this man with her soul ghost, he grabbed at his face and began to laugh.

“Exquisite! How strong!” He looked up at Spice Girl with wide enticing eyes. He had a bright yellow one and another that was spliced green and yellow. “She's just as beautiful as I expected her to be! Again! Another!”

What the fuck. Trish couldn't even speak to him or punch again. He made her feel ice cold, this man… he was like the men that Trish beat up, but different. This one made her feel fear. Not because he was a Stand User, not because he was crazy, but a third thing that made those two much worse.

“Oi!” Both Trish and the guy looked towards the voice. Neither of them had noticed the man who was running up to them. And then the pink haired man was punched again. The strange second person had used both his fist and the fist of his Stand. The would-be harasser skidded against the floor, much to the dismay of the one who punched him. He said something in Japanese that Trish of course didn’t understand.

“I had it.” She murmured in Italian, mostly to herself and Spice as the Stand returned to its resting place. She looked the man still standing up and down. He had a complexion just barely lighter than Mista, with two scars that reminded Trish of a baseball. He had his hair styled in a pompadour with (hopefully) dyed grey shaved sides. He was dressed stylishly, with a black and blue jacket with the yen sign on the left arm.

“I figured,” the guy said in perfect Italian, “but guys like that are weird, and when I saw your Stand punch him I couldn’t just sit ‘n do nothin’, you know? Principles ‘n shit.”

“Yeah…” Trish looked down at the guy who was- “What the fuck?”

“Hah?! Where the hell’d he go?!” The pink haired man was gone without a trace and in silence. What could his Stand be? How could he just disappear? “I haven't seen anythin’ like that before.” The guy seemed to realize something. “Shit, Miss, imma need your help.”

Trish furrowed her eyebrows. “What? I don't know you-”

“Yeah but there's people at stake! I'm supposed to pick up four people from the airport, and I'm pretty sure they're Stand Users too. If this guy is running around…”

Trish started to tune the guy out as something dawned on her. No way. She knows that Stand Users are attracted to other Stand Users but this is unreal. “Is it three guys and a girl?”

The man widened his eyes. “Are you a mind reader or somethin’? They were on the Italy flight, have you seen them?”

No fucking way. “You look too young to be a doctor. You must be Josuke.”

The guy laughed. “What?! No. I'm Okuyasu. Nijimura Okuyasu. Mr. Jotaro was going to come pick you guys up but he had to take an important call. He sent me but… didn't know what y'all looked like.”

“Trish Una. The other three are up above. How did you get down here and miss them? They don't look very Japanese, like at all.”

Okuyasu looked a bit embarrassed as he responded. “I kinda got lost… it's my first time in an airport.”

“You got lost… and made it to baggage claim…?” Trish scanned him for any sort of lies, but his eyes looked completely blank.

He looked like Narancia.

Trish rolled her eyes and sighed. “Hold this.” She handed him one of her suitcases while she rolled the other and they returned to the upper floor or the airport.

“I found our ride.” She announced as she walked back up to her brothers. “This is Okuyasu, Josuke's friend.”

Fugo held out his hand for a handshake. “Fugo. That's Mista and the dumb looking one's Narancia.” Fugo ducked Narancia’s oncoming hand. “And how is Giorno doing? Did everyone make it alright?”

“Yeah,” Okuyasu shook his hand, “they went to Rohan's and spent the day in the hotel. I'm supposed to take you guys to Rohan's, too.”

“Who's Rohan?”

“You'll see. He's weird but we kinda need him.” Trish raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask for elaboration. She knows plenty of weird people, and is sure that there are plenty more in a place called Morioh.

They followed Okuyasu, and Trish mentioned over her shoulder. “Oh and by the way, I got followed.”

Narancia was the first one to get words out. “You what?! ”

**

Bucciarati zipped and unzipped his palm as they waited at Rohan’s. Jotaro was still out, and Josuke had reported that Okuyasu had picked up the rest of the team, but that doesn’t mean that Bucciarati was suddenly not anxious. They don’t have calling cards, so the phone is a bust. He just has to wait and assume that nothing bad will happen to them. It’s not that they can’t handle themselves, he knows that they can. And yet… he continues to zip and unzip his palm.

“I do not know why you four are holed up at my house, of all places.” Rohan’s voice snapped the Italian out of his thoughts. “I am sure your hotel room would be much better than bringing him here.” He looked pointedly at Josuke, who glared right back.

“It’s easier to just meet here, since we need you again today.” Giorno said, flipping through a book that Josuke had lent him; Bucciarati can tell that he isn’t reading it. He’s been quiet the entire morning, this was the first time that he’s spoken today other than to ask Rohan to add Italian into Josuke’s brain. “If you’d like to debate this, then you can take it up with the guard.”

Rohan stared at him, “And who is that?” Abbacchio gave a wave that Bucciarati loved because it freaks people out, which made Rohan suddenly find his windows very interesting. “Don’t know why you had to come so early, you all have been here for hours.” He muttered instead of saying anything else back before his eyes perked up at the sound of a car. “Jotaro’s back.” Bucciarati deflated ever so slightly at it not being the people he really cared about.

Rohan let him in, and Jotaro spoke before he was even fully in the door. “Four hours. That is when he will pick us up.”

Bucciarati furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s he doing?”

“Working.” The doctor looked at him. “People have jobs.”

“Hey, I mean, I’m skipping work right now.” Josuke pointed to himself.

Giorno seemed to look a tad bit more interested. “What do you do for work?”

Josuke smiled at finally being asked something. “I’m a-” He stopped when a second engine could be heard. “Oku’s back!”

They’re back. Thank god. Josuke stared out the window and waved. Rohan seemed relieved. “Thank christ, you all can finally get out of my house.”

Abbacchio chuckled wryly, “What? Don’t want to get your ass kicked again?”

Rohan didn’t get to reply as the door opened right back up with Trish in the front while Fugo and Mista were holding her suitcases. She grinned. “You guys have no clue what I need to tell you-” She froze when she saw Josuke. She blinked. Then blinked again. “What the fuck?! It’s you? ”

Giorno looked to his relative. “Do you know her?”

“No!” Josuke rapidly shook his head. “I have never seen you before-”

“Giorno! You didn’t think to mention your Josuke was the Jojo? Do you hate me or something?” Trish looked like she was about to collapse, as Josuke seemed to understand what was going on. When nobody else seemed to get why she was acting like she just saw Madonna, she fished out her magazine, where lo and behold their tour guide was on the cover of it. “I forgot that you all are lame!” She looked back at Josuke. “Love your work, really. Can’t understand any of your interviews but you’re cool.”

Josuke grinned. “Well thank you.”

Rohan rolled his eyes. “I forgot some people think you have a respectable job. You can gawk later, preferably out of my house.”

Trish looked him up and down. “Must be Rohan, heard terrible things about you.”

“And you must be Trish Una. Read about you. One of them thinks that you’re bossy.”

Trish slowly turned towards Giorno, who looked like he was planning his escape. “What’s he talking about?”

Bucciarati looked at his other three and changed the subject. “How was the flight? Did everything go well?”

“The flight was fine,” Fugo reported, “it was the airport where Trish ran into trouble.”

Trish stopped what was going to be a Giorno beatdown and glared at Fugo. “Oh come on, dude. It wasn’t that big of a deal.” She looked to Rohan and pointed to her head. “You can write in me now.”

“Trish, what happened?” Bucciarati questioned as she looked away.

“No big deal.”

“You said that twice, but that’s not what I asked.”

He stared her down when their eyes met, which only lasted about five seconds. “Okay fine: some creep got to me in baggage. I punched him, Okuyasu punched him, then he disappeared.” When she saw Bucciarati about to speak, she started up again. “I’m fine, but he was a Stand User. He didn’t summon his Stand, just looked at Spice and wanted to be punched by her. Weird as fuck, end of story.” Her head was opened by Rohan as he wrote into her head. Even though she said it was no big deal, that's not how her body language reads. Her sentences were short, the way they tend to get when she's agitated. Her jaw was set, and her glare wasn't directed at anyone in particular.

So Bucciarati decided to ask something that would at least make her smile (hopefully). “Want me to cut out his heart?”

“She's not gonna let you,” Narancia said as he went to Rohan after Trish was finished, “she told me no, and I had offered to cut him into tiny pieces and make him look like a jigsaw puzzle.”

“If we see him again, he's mine.” Trish answered. “I hate guys like that.” She looked at her nails, ending it there.

“Get the creep, don't get him, more importantly, when are you leaving?” Rohan questioned, moving onto Fugo's brain. “I don't- holy shit this is the most well organized brain I've ever read. I mean, everyone’s is like a book but yours has numbers on every page, annotations, you went to college at 13?”

“Just. Write.” Fugo said in English, gritting his teeth.

Mista was the last person to get his head written into, and he extended his hand out to Bucciarati. He unzipped one of his zippers and tossed Mista his gun. He checked it while Rohan wrote. “So what are we doing from here?”

“We have some hours to kill,” Abbacchio said, “Jotaro’s friend comes at four.”

“So I can get something to eat?” Trish asked. “I want lunch and need to exchange my euros for yen. And I need calling cards, and some other things I can’t think of right now.”

Fugo stared at her, “Bucciarati’s life is at stake and you want to go shopping?”

“Life’s gonna be at stake if I do go, gonna be at stake if I don’t.” She shrugged. “I’ll get you something too.” She didn’t miss Giorno’s eyeroll at her words and she scoffed. “Just cause I have priorities doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of our goal,” she folded her arms, “you two are just boring.”

“We could go to Tonio’s!” Okuyasu suggested, “It’s like the only Italian place in Morioh, and he’s actually from Italy so it’s authentic!”

Josuke agreed. “It’s great, trust me!”

Narancia looked at him like he was stupid. “Trusting y’all about Italian food?”

“I’m serious! It’s really good!” He stood up, “Come on, it’s not far from here! It’s a little pricey but are all of you guys… you know?”

“Those are our bosses.” Narancia pointed towards both Bucciarati and Giorno. “And they can afford it.”

“I’m not paying for you.” Bucciarati said, like a liar. They stood up, and he gave a nod towards Rohan. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Get out.” The mangaka pointed towards his door.

**

“Tonio! I brought some friends!” Josuke called out as they walked in. Bucciarati looked around the restaurant, it was empty, and he did not miss that the sign said closed in both English and Japanese.

“Should we be here?” He questioned, to which Josuke laughed.

“Oh yeah, the closed sign doesn't apply to us.” He called out again, “Tonio!”

“In the back!” A voice called out. “Seat yourself! There's about nine or ten of you, hm? You may have to push a table or two together. I'll be out in a minute!”

Bucciarati helped them do so, before taking a seat next to Narancia just as their host stepped out. He gave a small bow. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Tonio Trussardi, and I shall be serving you all today.” The chef looked at all of them before settling his eyes on Bucciarati. “Ah, fellow countrymen?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“One can tell. I have good eyes.” There was a glint in said eyes, and Bucciarati looked to Trish, who gave a small nod. A Stand User. The ones that were familiar to this place seemed relaxed, so Bucciarati remained calm. “The door said you were closed, I hope we are not imposing.”

“Ah, not at all!” Tonio smiled. “I am so busy throughout most of the week with Tratoria that I need a mental day off. However, I always like to cook for my friends,” he nodded towards Josuke and Okuyasu, “as well as their friends.”

“Give them something normal please, Tonio.” Okuyasu asked. “No Pearl Jam.”

“They are all healthy, I would not use them. Except for that one,” he gestured to Narancia, “who has a stomachache. And you, signor,” He spoke to Bucciarati as Narancia looked around in disbelief, “you are afflicted with something that I am not familiar with.”

Bucciarati didn’t say anything, but looked toward Josuke. The younger man nodded. “Tonio just likes to cook and help people, honest. He might even be able to help you out, Mr. Bucciarati.”

“We are three years apart, you don’t need to call me ‘Mister’.”

“When did you figure out my birthday?”

Bucciarati ignored him and returned to Tonio. “You said that you don’t know what’s wrong with me, but you can sense it?”

“I can tell what might be bothering any of my customers, and can cook their solutions into my meals,” The chef replied, “hence why there is no menu. You all may have to wait a bit whilst I am cooking, there are quite a number of you today. I will do my best to help if I can.” Bucciarati could only nod in thanks. He did not want to raise his hopes up, because nothing is ever that easy. Nothing is ever as simple as eating special food, even food from a Stand User.

As they waited, Bucciarati watched the other nine people around him. Josuke and Trish were hitting it off well, and the same could be said for Okuyasu and Mista. Fugo, who for all intensive purposes seemed like he wanted to be left alone, was then bothered by Narancia, which led to him being bothered by Mista and Okuyasu.

Only Giorno was entirely quiet, and not in the way that the older members were. He was painfully quiet, and even when Narancia tried to bring him into the conversation, he remained on the outskirts. Bucciarati didn't want to bring attention to it, lest he make everything awkward for the boy.

“So what's the whole deal with the seven of y'all?” Josuke asked as Giorno returned to Josuke's question. “What deal?”

“What's the connection? Okuyasu is my friend, Jotaro is my nephew, and they're your dads,” he gestured towards the other four, “but are these all friends? Or like… bodyguards or something?”

“Based on job description alone?” Giorno looked over, “Mista is my primary bodyguard, Abbacchio is Bucciarati’s, and Narancia is Trish's. Fugo can go wherever we need him, but all of us guard each other. As for what they are to me? They are my siblings.”

Josuke widened his eyes and looked at Bucciarati and Abbacchio. “You two have five kids?!”

“They are adopted.” Bucciarati was quick to clear that up; he could feel a headache coming on from the mere thought of having to take care of any of these kids at a young age. “Everything runs smoother if they're all on our insurance.”

“So you all live together?”

“Yep.” Mista said. “That also makes things easier.”

“Damn… must be cramped then, huh?”

“I once didn't see Abbacchio for like two weeks straight.” Narancia said as Tonio came back into the front of the house with water. “He was on the other side of the house. It's big as fuck, man.”

Okuyasu looked at Narancia drinking from his cup, “It'll make you cry, so be prepared.” 

“Only if you have dry eyes.” Tonio added on, continuing to pour, somehow knowing who wanted ice and who didn't.

“Wait… so nobody guards Fugo?”

“Those three have high positions in Passione,” the boy said, “I'm a soon-to-be lawyer.”

Tonio's hand faltered at his words, the water spilling onto the table. Everyone stopped, looking at the man. Okuyasu furrowed his brows. “You okay, Tonio?” Bucciarati knew the answer was no. It seems even far far away from home, the business follows them even here.

“Passione?” Tonio repeated the word, like it was poison on his tongue. The others went silent, Jotaro silently looking between Giorno and Tonio. For a moment, it almost looked like he was going to say something, but that moment was fleeting. “All of you… are from Passione?”

The tension could be cut with a knife as Giorno answered the question. “Yes.”

Silence. Then. “And if I request that you all leave and never step foot into my establishment again?”

“Oi-”

“Then we will leave.” Giorno said before Narancia could say anything else.

“Hey wait.” Josuke held a hand out. “Tonio, I know how this looks but they're good people. Hell, Giorno's family.”

“There are no good people in Passione.” Tonio said, his voice much colder than before.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

Giorno continued. “You have been in Japan for some time now, correct? The Passione you know is not the same one you hold grievances with.”

“No? Then what brings you to Japan if not the business that you are well known for?”

“The affliction that you saw on me?” Bucciarati stepped in. “We came here in hopes to find answers. I swear on my life that we have no other intentions in Morioh or in Japan.”

“Do you value your life enough for it to be worth that statement?”

Abbacchio stood up. “Oi, the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I do,” Bucciarati said before Abbacchio did something that could get them banned for life, “but if that is not enough for you, I swear it on Mista’s life.” 

He didn't look back at his oldest as he proclaimed that as Tonio stared at him, his face telling Bucciarati that he didn't believe all of that either. Yet he spoke anyway. “Both Josuke and Okuyasu are able to find good people, and they put their trust in them. I will serve you, and I will still try to help you, Signor Bucciarati, but strictly because of those two. Now if you'll excuse me.”

Tonio left to the back of the restaurant, leaving Bucciarati with a sour feeling in the back of his throat. Why does this sting more than revealing his line of work to other people? Perhaps because this person wanted to help him without wanting anything in return, and he isn’t used to people like that outside of his circle. “You guys are good people.” Okuyasu said. “I could tell when I met her.” He looked at Trish, who gave a wry chuckle.

“You think?” Her voice was flat. “I think you just think the mob is cool.”

“It’s not like… the greatest job ever, but ya just got a bad job, doesn’t make ya bad people.”

Josuke found his cup very interesting as he spoke. “What do you all do?”

“You do not want to know.” Giorno looked at his own silverware.

“We do everything short of trafficking and drugs.” Narancia said with the ease of talking about the weather.

“Narancia.” Giorno narrowed his eyes. “Did you not hear me?”

“What’s the point in hiding anything?” He raised his hand. “They’re about to be stuck with us, they might as well know.” He pointed at himself. “We’re all a little fucked.”

If Josuke had something to say about that, he didn’t. Nothing else came from him as the silence returned for the next fifteen minutes. Bucciarati doesn’t blame him - or anyone for that matter. Narancia was right, but he knows why Giorno would want to keep things quiet: figuring out that these people you’ve been spending time with are all murderers might not sit right with a kid from the suburbs.

Tonio came back soon, holding out Bucciarati’s food first; it was a simple lasagna, and the man didn’t know what he was expecting. It looked to die for, but not like something that could fix his Stand affliction. At the very least, he would get a great meal. “Please enjoy.” Tonio said, his voice holding just a faint amount of sincerity; he would feed Bucciarati even if he hates what the man stands for.

Bucciarati cut into his meal as the others were served, but he was acutely aware of everyone trying to act like they weren’t looking at him. Well, everyone other than Jotaro, who was staring. Bucciarati let the food hit his tongue, and his eyes widened. This… this was the best food he’s ever had. It somehow reminded him of his mother’s cooking: something he hadn’t had in so long, he almost forgot what it tasted like.

“Amazing,” He murmured between bites (it took every single ounce of mindfulness to not inhale his entire meal), “you have a talent.” He complimented in Italian. Tonio silently nodded in appreciation, watching Bucciarati eat at a faster pace than he usually does. When he finished in no time at all, he looked to Tonio. “I don’t feel any different. Do… do I look any different? Can you tell?” 

The chef tilted his head, brows furrowed. “I have never come across an ailment that I could not cure and yet…”

“It’s not your fault,” Bucciarati reassured him, “what is afflicting me isn’t a normal illness or injury. It’s a Stand attack. But I am grateful for the meal, even if it cannot save me.” He looked to Jotaro, “We truly will be relying on your friend now.”

“Hey, Jotaro-San,” Josuke glanced out the window, “is that him?” There was a van pulled up into the parking lot, and a man stepped out.

“He’s very early. “ The older man said, eating his meal. Bucciarati watched the man exit his van, and he had a sudden sense of deja-vu. This face… he knew that face. Brown skin, long scars down his face. His red robe was familiar, but there was so much about him that was different. He had two prosthetic hands, both of which matched his skin tone so well that it took Bucciarati a few extra moments to realize the fact. His hair wasn’t what Bucciarati remembered: it was in dreadlocks down to his chest instead of… of… what was it? Why does Bucciarati remember something different yet not remember it at all.

“I… I know him…” Bucciarati whispered to himself as the man walked in, his eyes didn’t leave his face.

“Avdol.” Jotaro stood up and the two men clapped their hands together in a strong handshake.

“I was able to arrive much quicker than I anticipated.” Avdol had a smile on his face as he looked at everyone. When he locked eyes with Bucciarati, something happened in the Italian’s mind. It was white-hot, like a knife on fire inside of his cranium. He grimaced, putting his head in his hands as images flashed by. The last train home, the restaurant, the people. It all raced behind his eyes too fast for him to understand it all, but he knew one thing: this was Muhammad Avdol, and Muhammad Avdol was dead. Because he was there when Bucciarati reached the end of the line.

“Bruno! Bruno, can you hear me?” Was that Abbacchio?

“What the fuck is that?!” Bucciarati’s head snapped up at the uncharacteristically loud Giorno. He was looking at the window of the restaurant, a window where nothing was there. He looked petrified, or at least that’s what Bucciarati thought he saw; his vision was blurring. Other voices blended together, but he felt someone move him farther back. There was more yelling confusion, a punch was thrown, glass shattered and-

1

Jotaro looked where Star Platinum's fist landed. Glass was frozen in the air as he realized that he hadn’t punched hard enough. The Stand was on the other side of the glass, staring past Jotaro and directly at Bucciarati. “So that’s how you do it, huh?” He looked at the frozen Stand. It wore all black with a checkered suit vest, black boots on its feet. It looked… almost human.

2

And then it turned slowly towards Jotaro, and its black eyes turned gold. It raised its hand, and three golden threads extended from its fingertips, making a beeline for he, Josuke, and Giorno in this world of stopped time. Jotaro began to back away from the Stand and its attack. Star Platinum threw punches at the thread, but his fists went through it and it attached itself to Jotaro’s chest. Jotaro couldn’t feel anything, but he narrowed his eyes.

3

He could touch it, pull as hard as he could as he looked at it, attaching itself to his family members. The Stand’s eyes glowed brighter, and that was when it began to cause a feeling in his chest. Like buzzing underneath his skin.

4

Shit. “There’s no time.” He murmured under his breath. He looked at the enemy. “I’ll be sure to beat the shit out of you and your User.”

5

-suddenly Bucciarati’s head cleared up, as if there was never a problem. He blinked, his vision cleared up completely. “Wh… What-” He couldn’t finish his sentence because he was gone. Giorno was gone. So were Josuke and Jotaro. But in their place were their Stands, all of which looked terrified. “Where’d they go?” He looked around, his eyes landing on Gold Experience. “Where did they go?”

“Muda!” He yelled back, hands shaking. Flowers sprouted under his feet, bright orange and not ones that Giorno had made before.

“Ora!” Glass broke again, and he saw Jotaro’s Stand punching the rest of the glass. Something’s here. Or was here, and had set this chaos off.

“They have to be here,” Okuyasu insisted as he brought out his own Stand to try and calm down Josuke’s, “Josuke and Jotaro don’t have a long range.”

“If they are still here,” Avdol made his voice known, steady and sure, “then it will take no time for Magician’s Red to find them.” He closed his eyes and summoned his own Stand. The bird hybrid looked at them before clapping his hands together. A six pointed radar-like system made of flames revealed itself. “Wherever they are, the Life Detector will lead them to us.” It floated on its own, the bottom flame burning brighter as it went to a spot near the (now fixed by Josuke’s Stand out of what seemed to be sheer compulsion) window. It lowered itself to the ground, and Avdol pointed. “Beneath us?”

Bucciarati wasted no time to unzip the floor, but he didn’t see anything. It was just like Zucchero and the boat. The Life Detector went into the hole, and stopped there. “Oi, why’d it stop?” Mista looked at Avdol, almost accusing him with his eyes “You said it would find them.”

“If they’re here.”

“So you’re saying they’re not here? Then where the fuck did they go, huh?”

“Mista, shut up. Abbacchio. Replay Giorno.” Bucciarati kept his voice calm. Not that he was calm by any means, he wanted to punch through all of the floor in Tonio’s restaurant and unzip into the center of the earth until he found his kid, but there’s something more to this. So what happened? “It’s only been a minute at most. If they went down, then they’re not far, and the enemy was faster than any of us could see.” Fast enough to get three people in the blink of an eye.

Moody Blues was summoned and walked back to where Giorno was sitting before becoming him. “I’ll go back three minutes.” Abbacchio said, the bar on Moody Giorno’s forehead reversing before beginning to play. They watched Giorno look over at where Bucciarati was originally sitting, then to where Avdol was. Then his eyes caught something, his brows furrowing for barely a second before his eyes widened and he paled.

“What the fuck is that?!” His voice came out.

Bucciarati raised his hand, and Abbacchio paused. “Did anyone else see what Giorno saw?”

“I looked when he screamed but nothing was there,” Trish said, “and when I turned back he was… it was just a moment.”

“Giorno doesn’t just scream. He doesn’t see ghosts.” Mista thought out loud. “Something was there.”

“Then why couldn’t we see it?”

“Maybe we weren’t supposed to.” Avdol suggested. “Perhaps we will find more if we continue on?” Bucciarati gave Abbacchio a nod to continue the replay, yet Moody Giorno did not move.

“Abbacchio.”

“She’s playing. She is playing.” Abbacchio’s voice took on a slightly concerned tone in the next sentence. “So then what the fuck is this?” Moody Giorno was not moving an inch, Giorno’s face still terrified. But this didn’t happen, the time between Giorno yelling and disappearing was two seconds.

“Abba,” Narancia looked at the Stand, “somethin’s wrong with their timer.” He was right, the timer was stuck: the seconds were flickering between the 1 and 2, unable to go any farther.

“That must be from Jotaro,” Avdol spoke once more, “His Star Platinum is able to stop time. Your Moody Blues must be attempting to go through those five seconds.”

“But Jotaro only stops time if he’s fighting.” Okuyasu interjected.

“Which means he saw it, too.” Bucciarati scrunched up his eyebrows. How did nobody else see it? Why did only two people see it, and if it was only going after people who viewed it, then why take Josuke, too?

And then Moody Giorno’s chest glowed gold for a split second, and Moody Blues was forcibly deactivated, crumpling to the floor and letting out the tones that sounded like TV static. Abbacchio took a knee, grasping his chest. “Abbacchio!” Bucciarati helped him stand up. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t follow him.” he panted. “I don’t know where he is. He’s not here. None of them are.”

“Rhododendron.” Fugo finally said a word. Heads turned towards him, he was looking at the flowers that were sprawled around Gold Experience. “They warn people to stay away, that there’s danger.”

And then it all clicked. The yellow light in Giorno’s soul and the warning left behind.

“She got them.” Bucciarati looked at the hole he unzipped. “The Stand that’s after me went after them too.”

“I thought it grabbed your soul.” Fugo said, still not looking at anyone.

“It did.” Bucciarati looked at the Stands missing their Users. So then where did their bodies go? And why are their Stands here instead?

Chapter Text

This new world was stagnant when Jotaro was blipped into existence. It was dark, empty, cold. The grass looked like wind should be blowing, but it wasn’t. He wasn't alone here; Josuke and Giorno had materialized beside him, all three of them still had the golden threads in their chests. Worse, the Stand that brought them there was right next to Josuke. It took the boy not even a moment. “Crazy Diamond!”

Nothing.

Jotaro didn’t try his own, because he didn’t need to. He could feel it. Star Platinum was not there. Wherever they were, their Stands were not with them. Their captor pointed ahead of them, eyes unblinking as it looked directly at Giorno. “It wants us to walk.” The boy said, looking ahead. “This must be the place.”

“The place...?” Josuke questioned as they followed the Stand. It made no move to attack them, just leading them somewhere.

“Where Bucciarati went. Where his soul goes.” Realization dawned on the blonde’s face. “That means Requiem is here. Req-”

“I don’t recommend doing that,” A figure in front of them came into view. She was a light grey with darker hands and feet. Her long blonde hair fell down to her waist and she wore a lavender leotard with a translucent train of the same colour. Her grey eyes looked across all of them, then landed on the oldest person. “lest something happen to your uncle, Jotaro.” Both he and Giorno looked at Josuke, where the other Stand had her hand on his thread.

Oh yeah, Jotaro is definitely killing them.

When Giorno didn’t call for Requiem again, the Stand released the thread. The lavender one smiled and nodded. “Now where are my manners?” She gestured to the one that brought them here. “That is Face The Sun. FTS, say hello.” Face The Sun gave a nod, standing by her… User?

“Then who are you?” Josuke questioned, “Her bestie or something?”

“I am Fayte.” She said simply. It was clear that she wouldn't elaborate. She smiled politely at both Josuke and Jotaro, ignoring Giorno entirely. “I apologize for having to disrupt you both, but I could not have you hurting Face The Sun, hence why I had it only bring you and not your Stands. This is not a meeting for violence.”

“Then what is it for?”

Fayre cut her eyes at Giorno, glaring before calming down. “I had to call this group meeting because of you. ” She pointed at him. “Your Stand ruined everything.” Giorno widened his eyes, genuine confusion written on his face.

“I didn’t do anything.” Giorno took a step backwards, to which Fayte took a step closer. "I don't know you."

“But you did.” Fayte came even closer. “You just couldn’t let things go the way they needed to go, hm? You just had to go against how it was supposed to be-” She stopped herself. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you broke the sequence, and now I have to fix it.”

“What sequence? I didn’t-” He raised an eyebrow. “Who is your User? Have we crossed paths?”

Both Fayte and Face The Sun froze. “You have not.” Fayte said flatly. “Yet you still did everything wrong. You see, there is a system in place,” She turned away from him, pinching a bridge of his nose as if Giorno was supposed to know all of this already, “one that is absolutely perfect for you Joestars. You save the day, lose some friends, but their sacrifice is worth the risk and that’s the end!” She whipped back around, pointing at the boy. “Yet you, you had to go and ruin the way things needed to be! All of my hard work, my planning, my notes, erased for three people you met a week ago!”

Now hold on. 

Fayte.

Fate.

“Good grief.” Jotaro muttered as realization dawned on Giorno's face as well.

Josuke seemed to be the only one out of the loop. “Is anybody gonna explain anything instead of just looking at each other?!”

“Bucciarati was supposed to die, wasn't he?” Giorno spoke to Fayte. “He, Abbacchio, and Narancia. That's why you want him back.”

Fayte gave a sarcastic laugh. “If it was just Bucciarati, maybe I'd let that slide- hell, I could've let all three of them slide but you ended up doing more than that!”

“More? But I didn't…” Giorno shook his head. “I didn't do anything else.”

“If that were true, we wouldn't be here!” She sighed. “I knew it. I knew nobody was ready for a Requiem Stand, and yet I went against my better judgement.”

Josuke pointed at her. “So you're in charge of everyone? Of everyone's lives?”

“Everyone? Of course not, just the Joestars.”

“What is it about us?” Jotaro questioned. Why us?

Does that include her?

“Because you're interesting.” She said simply.

“That's it?” Giorno was in disbelief. “You get to choose who lives or dies in our lives just because we're interesting?”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.” Face The Sun looked towards Fayte, who nodded. “You're right. I want to get this over quickly. I understand your questions, but don't worry. Once I have Bucciarati, I'll be able to set everything back and none of you will remember any of this. These questions mean nothing to me.”

All three of them answered with just a look. Fayte shook her head, like a patent scolding her child. “What is it with you all? I know you are all stubborn, but good lord the two of you have only known this man for what, a day?”

“If you've been following us our entire lives,” Josuke spoke, “then you know we don't abandon our friends, no matter when we meet.”

Fayte rolled her eyes. “You and your bleeding heart have the least to do with this, and it's not like you can stop this. I only needed to move you here until I assessed if you were a threat, and I have decided that you are not. Sunny, if you don't mind.” The Stand touched its chest and suddenly both it and Josuke were gone.

Jotaro sized up Fayte one more time. He is still very sure he can kill her. “Where did he go?”

“Back to the mortal realm. I mean,” she chuckled, “what's the point of talking to him? His heart can't be changed, I spent so much time writing around it. But surely you can listen to reason, Giorno. Besides, it's not like you can say no.”

The blonde narrowed his eyes. “And if we do?”

“Well then I'll just keep you two here.” Fayte sat down on something invisible like a chair. There must be things here that their human eyes can't see. “Nobody else can see Face The Sun, nobody but you two, anyway. It's a special Stand, it'll get to him and everything will be fine. Unfortunately this will be much more painful for you.” Fayte smiled. “After all, Stands can't exist without their Users. The same can be said for the two of you. No Stand, no you, and that means I get Bucciarati anyway. This is just the more painful choice.”

“Good grief,” Jotaro sighed, "we're going to be here until we suffocate to death?”

“It's more like a heart attack, but yes.”

“You're confident in yourself.”

“I have no reason not to be. Requiem is not nearby, and FTS will be here with Bucciarati at any moment.”

“Why not just kill me?” Giorno questioned. “It was my Requiem that caused your… story to veer off course,” his voice seethed on the word story, “so why not just end me here?”

“Oh Giorno,” she sounded as if she was speaking to a child, “don’t you think I would do that if I could? But you’re the activator, not the catalyst. Killing you is like breaking a clock - it doesn’t stop time from flowing. So unfortunately, this does make things a tad bit more difficult for my story. I was so close to finishing it, too. Just a few more years to go. Each one of you had a place, and all of your chapters concluded. Or they would have, if you hadn’t let everything blow up in my face.”

If their stories had completed, then who was left? Jotaro knows that there aren’t any other Joestars in the family (he shook his grandfather like a maraca just to make sure), and if their own chapters of Fayte are completed…

She is so lucky that Star Platinum isn’t here.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Fayte was unphased, “You won’t even remember that I exist. None of this matters-” Her smile turned into a twisted grimace, cracks appearing on her skin. “What-” She fell to the ground, coughing up blood. And just in time, too. Jotaro began to feel his chest growing heavy; being without their Stands must be beginning to take its toll.

Compared to stopping his heart, though, this felt like nothing.

He walked over to Fayte and looked down at her. “You sealed your own fate when you sent Josuke back.” He knew that the younger man would realize what he needed to do. His own ability to revert things back counted as turning back time, at least for objects. “He's probably fucking up your Face The Sun right now.” more cracks appeared on Fayte’s skin, and she let out a pained scream. “And your face.”

“You might want to return us back and recall your friend,” Giorno took his own steps closer, “because I have a sneaking suspicion that it just might die up there.”

Fayte looked up at them, a grimace on her face. “This isn't-” She coughed. “Do you think this will be enough? I know everything about all of you, and I'll get what I want.”

“Your time writing our stories ends here.”

She glared. “I underestimated your overconfidence, but you will see just how bad I can make this for you.”

“No,” Jotaro spoke, “you're going to see just how bad we will make this for you.”

“I tried to do this the simplest way, but it seems like you want to make it difficult.” She spat blood onto the ground.

“You might want to switch us out.”

“You will regret this.” Fayte raised her hand, and suddenly they were right back where they originally were in Tonio's restaurant.

Star.

Jotaro was enveloped by his Stand, a level of outward emotion that hadn’t been shown from him in quite some time. Jotaro patted him on the back. “Hi.”

“Ora.” Where were you? “Ora.” Are you okay? “Ora!” “I couldn’t do anything!” 

“I’m okay.” He reassured his Stand quietly before dismissing it back into his soul. And then he felt like he needed to puke. His body felt wrong, skin too tight. He was not okay and he knew it.

“Jotaro, are you-”

1

He knows that it’s not in his best interest to stop time right now, but if he hears anybody ask if he’s alright, Jotaro is going to punch them in the face. He took off his hat for a second (in this time) and ran his hand through his hair.

2

This is more than just giving Giorno and his friends information and going back to being a marine biologist. They threw him into this, and his anger is bubbling up over the surface which does nobody any good. But he will have his time for anger, he knows this. He’ll get Fayte, and he’ll be the one to end whatever this is. He can’t let anyone write her story, set her up to suffer loss.

3

So for now, Jotaro got out his anger by punching his fist through another one of Tonio’s tables.

4

“-okay?!” Josuke jumped as the table suddenly shattered. Jotaro looked at the kid, his demeanour composed once again.

“You mind fixing this?” He held up his hand, splinters galore. “And the rest of the place?” He took a seat in one of the chairs that hadn't been destroyed. “How’d you fight it off?”

“It wasn’t just me,” Josuke corrected him, “Abbacchio was the one that got the real hits in.”

Jotaro looked at the man, who looked like he was trying very hard to stay calm as he stood beside Giorno, who was staring straight ahead, not registering what people were saying to him other than with brief nods. Coming back must be different for everyone. He turned his attention back to Josuke. “What happened?”

Josuke felt like all of his atoms had been zapped with a hundred lasers when he came back, but he didn’t have time to worry about that considering Face The Sun was with him.

“Josuke!” Okuyasu called for him, he sounded relieved but Josuke couldn't take his eyes off of the enemy. Not when nobody else could see it.

At least that's what he thought, until he saw Abbacchio put himself in front of Bucciarati. “So that’s what you look like.” He can see it, too. What’s the correlation? Why can only the two of them see it? 

He didn’t have the time to think about it right now, though, and swung directly at FTS. However, the most unexpected thing happened. Crazy Diamond’s fist passed right through her and smashed the window, making her look like a hazy apparition for a few moments before it straightened back up. She continued to walk forwards towards Bucciarati, and Abbacchio looked towards Josuke. “How do we fight this thing?”

“Hell if I know! Okuyasu, swipe to your left!” He did so, but Face The Sun didn't get dragged. Clearly those who can't see it, can't affect it. But even those who can, can't hit it. Josuke looked at the Stand as it stepped on the broken table, and he punched another piece. They flew together, returning the table to its normal state. FTS jumped back as if to keep the pieces from colliding into her body.

It clicked then for Josuke. He looked back at Abbacchio, and he could tell that the older man understood it, too. “Moody Blues!” The Stand was summoned and morphed into her User.

“I'll kick your ass.” She said, Abbacchio's voice coming from their mouth. They ran at Face The Sun, gearing up for a punch. The Stand seemed unphased, unlike its reaction towards the table. But Josuke was confident in this. It didn't know what was about to hit them, literally. 

Moody Abbacchio's fist collided with its face, then delivered a cold uppercut to the lower jaw before kicking it in the stomach. It collided into the windows, its eyes wide as it avoided another punch from Moody Blues. Josuke decided that he couldn't just let him have all the fun. They needed to get rid of this thing, now. Crazy Diamond punched the broken shards of glass, which sent them careening towards Face The Sun. They sliced at her skin as she dove out of the way. She raised her hand, and the thread reappeared from her finger, this time it attached itself to Crazy Diamond’s chest. Before it could launch him back into the other side, Moody Blues grabbed her in a headlock. Abbacchio used them to speak, “Give Giorno back.” He said slowly as Moody Blues tightened their grasp. Face The Sun tried to fight them off, but they weren't as strong as she was, and started clawing at the purple Stand’s arm. 

“Not… used… to someone… who can… fight back?” Josuke didn't know how he could tell, but that last comment was all Moody Blues. 

Josuke placed a table leg on Face The Sun's withering body. “I don't like hurting people this badly, but you've got my family trapped and clearly you can suffocate,” Crazy Diamond held his fist up to the table leg, “so I wonder what getting crushed under an entire table will do to you.”

“And just before I could do it, they disappeared,” Josuke finished up, “and you two were back.” He sighed. “It was freaky. Nobody else could see it, and I couldn't even punch it.”

“So she wasn't lying,” Jotaro said, “only certain abilities can hurt Face The Sun. Josuke, Giorno, and Abbacchio can attack it.”

“You most likely will be able to fight it in stopped time,” Avdol said as he helped Josuke put Tonio's restaurant back together, “which means that you have the best ability to attack with, but the shortest window of opportunity.”

“We should leave, right?” Narancia looked around, “before it comes back?”

“It takes time for her to come around,” Bucciarati answered, “or else I'm sure I would have died years ago.”

“There's a system to it.” Giorno said, his voice sounding strained. “I haven't figured it out yet, but I will.”

“Narancia is right though.” Abbacchio looked at Avdol. “Leaving is still our best bet. We can talk about what happened when Bucciarati saw you - and anything else - away from here.”

Josuke finished fixing everything within the restaurant before looking outside. He pointed at Avdol’s van, “Hey look, I don’t mean to be an ass, but is that going to fit all of us?”

“All I was told was that there would be a group with him.” The older man said, staring directly at Jotaro. “I was not aware that the group was this large. I only have seven seats sans the driver. We’re over by three.”

“And Jotaro takes up like two seats.” Josuke muttered.

“I am sitting in the front.”

“I can make us all fit,” Bucciarati provided an answer, “Sticky Fingers can open up a zipper portal in your van. I can sit in there, as well as Giorno and Trish.”

The girl folded her arms. “I’m not sitting in there. It’s dark and weird. It’s like being stuck in a turtle all over again.”

"Would you rather the turtle?"

“I’ll do it.” Abbacchio settled it. Josuke noticed that Giorno didn’t have anything else to say, still looking off. Fugo had put a hand on his shoulder, but Giorno just quietly took a small step back.

“Then it’s decided.” Jotaro broke Josuke out of his thoughts. The others walked out the door, all but Okuyasu.

“I gotta talk to Tonio real quick.” He looked at Jotaro, not taking no for an answer. Jotaro just nodded. 

Josuke came with his friend. “What’s up?”

“We trashed his place, man. I know you fixed it up but still. Feels bad that we brought that to him.” Josuke nodded as Okuyasu continued. “And we're probably gonna end up out of town, huh? Shit, we gotta tell Koichi too.”

“We'll have to call him. You know that Yukako would kill us if we take Koichi on another crazy adventure. Not after ‘02 in Shibuya.”

Okuyasu shivered. “Don't bring that up. We all almost died.”

“It was fun though.”

“I'm not doin' that shit with you again.”

"You so would."

"Fuck off."

**

Abbacchio looked at Giorno as he sat next to him, who wasn’t saying a word as they sat in the zipper space. It’s not like he didn’t want to talk to the kid, but it was different when Bucciarati was in the room. Not because they couldn’t talk when all three of them are together, but because he knows that Giorno won’t talk about it while he's here. The man is literally being hunted by a killer Stand, and Abbacchio knows that the boy believes that one way or another it's his fault.

“Does your skin itch?” Bucciarati asked quietly.

Giorno looked up, forcing himself. “Sorry?”

“Your skin, from coming back.”

But this? Perhaps this could work.

Giorno didn’t reply, as if he was looking through Bucciarati. They both are used to that sort of gaze from him, here but not. Gone but present. The only thing that could be heard was the muffled chatter from above as the van continued onward towards its destination.

Bucciarati continued. “Sometimes I’d wake up and things would be wrong. The bed was too big, my clothes too large. When I came back from the place consciously, it was like bugs were underneath me.” Abbacchio looked at his partner. He didn’t know any of this. Would he have known anything if he didn’t offer to be down here?

The answer is no. And Giorno wouldn’t have said what he is about to say next if there was anyone else in here, either.

“Not itchy.” He eventually confessed. “Tight. Like… like it’s too small for my body.”

“Like it’s not yours anymore?”

Giorno nodded, “Does it go away?”

“It does. The reason this is lasting so long might be because unlike me, you still have something tethering you there.”

Abbacchio questioned Giorno. “Did you see it?”

“No. She wouldn't let me call for it, and I'm guessing Face The Sun being just a few feet away from Bucciarati didn't warrant it appearing for you.” His voice had a bite to it. “It's unreliable in its conditions. I'm guessing you all have to be on the actual brink of death for it to show up in any capacity.”

“It's alright,” Bucciarati responded, “I didn't expect to see it.” It was clear that it was not alright for Giorno. Although he had gotten used to his base Gold Experience fairly quickly, Abbacchio was aware of the malice that Giorno had developed for her advanced version. When they barely escape missions by a hair, when they all know Requiem could've come in handy or kept them from injuries that they could have lived without, even Abbacchio wished that the Stand was there.

But it never came, and even now, Abbacchio doubts that it ever will. Unless one of them dies. Almost.

The van stopped an hour later, and Abbacchio let Bucciarati poke his head out of the zipper first. “A museum?” Abbacchio grabbed onto his hand, Bucciarati lifted him out before doing the same for Giorno. He looked up, and yep, it was a museum.

Avdol smiled. “Welcome to my pride and joy: the International Museum of Natural History.” He looked back at everyone, very clearly proud. Abbacchio just felt bored; he prefers art museums to science.

“Um… Mr. Avdol?” Josuke looked up at the building. “This is like, a place that my highschool would've taken us on a field trip, not a place where we could get all the answers.”

The Egyptian chuckled as he led them inside. “The Speedwagon Foundation funded this place, and as the curator and someone who still has some very Stand specific items, I have my own office.”

“You curate this place?” Narancia widened his eyes before staring at the exhibits. “A museum? In Japan?”

“What, do I not look the part?” Avdol didn’t seem to take it to heart. “I do it because this is a country and city that I love, and get to show it little bits and pieces of history from around the world. It being close to Morioh is an added bonus. I also have a collection of material that can hopefully assist us, or at the very least guide us in the right direction.” Abbacchio glanced at the exhibits that he could see from their positions before realizing he was a kid short. Mista.

There was no need to panic of course, Abbacchio found him in .2 seconds. Flirting with a girl with a head full of bright pink and green hair. They've been inside for less than ten seconds. “You've gotta be kidding me.” He grumbled before yanking Mista by the collar.

“Ack-! Dude!”

“Don't dude me, we have places to be.” He looked back at the girl as she gave him a wave. “She's out of your league anyway.”

“Fuck you.” He got himself out of Abbacchio’s grip and shoved his hands in his pockets. Abbacchio smirked, he's glad he's ruined someone’s day. Well, more than today’s events already have.

Avdol brought them to the elevator, swiping his keycard before being able to press a button that began their descent. Abbacchio leaned against the wall, looking out the glass elevator as they went below ground.

He glanced over at Fugo, the boy was lightly tapping his foot. He signed towards the kid. “You good?”

“A lot's happened in like two hours, but yeah I'm great.” His hands took that sarcastic tone they do. “We still don't know what's wrong with his head.”

“I saw him.” Bucciarati chimed in. “Avdol.”

“But you've never met him.”

“And there's the issue.”

“I think I can solve that riddle.” Avdol said as the elevator stopped. 

Abbacchio stared at the man with an incredulous look. “There's no way.”

“I know plenty of languages, Abbacchio. Not just the ones of the tongue. Come, there's someone I'm sure will be of great help combing through all that is down here.”

They walked down a dimly lit hallway, no cameras as far as Abbacchio could discern. There were two doors at the end of the hallway, and Abbacchio could hear a dog barking from inside one of them.

“I know that dog.” Bucciarati put his fingers to his temple. “It's not as strong as when I saw you, Avdol. But that bark… I know it.”

Avdol looked back at him. “Hm. Then what I'm theorizing might have some merit to it. But let's go inside first, shall we?” He opened the door, and the dog ran out and between Avdol’s legs, and then Jotaro's. It had a metal paw that made a little tapping noise as it ran around and barked at them. Abbacchio watched Jotaro's eyes slightly widen.

“This thing's still alive?” Jotaro bent down to scratch behind his ears. “This is Iggy.” There was a hint of a smile on his face. “He's an old friend from back when we were fighting Dio.”

Abbacchio gawked. “The 80s?! This dog has been alive since the 80s?!” Iggy growled at Abbacchio, as if he understood him.

A voice came from inside the office, “He's pissy because I won't give him gum! But he's already had enough today!” Jotaro looked even more surprised at the voice than he did Iggy.

“He's here?”

“He is.” Avdol confirmed. “He's here often.” Iggy ran back inside, and Avdol chuckled. “I suppose that means it's time for all of us to take a seat, we have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

Giorno's eyes ignored the person in front of him, looking around the room they’re in instead. It was large and open; Avdol’s office seemed more akin to a library than anything, with a large open floor plan with couches and a table, with rows of books that seemed to go so far back, Giorno thought it would never end. The entire place felt homely, more like a place you could live in than an office. It reminded him of home, of their own library. The white marble on their walls was a stark contrast to the brown wood and dark orange walls of this place, but the comfortable atmosphere made it possible for Giorno to shake off the lingering feeling of Face The Sun in his chest.

Giorno wished he was home. He wished everything was fine. 

“Kakyoin?” Giorno finally looked at the man that had taken Jotaro by surprise. He had red hair, and Giorno does not mean ginger, he means straight red in a ponytail down his back with a braid at the right front of his face. A pair of brown glasses sat atop his nose, with a white turtleneck and grey pants. He adjusted his sweater as he stood up and walked over to the man. Giorno watched as he and Jotaro shook hands. “Been a long time, Dr. Tenmei.”

“I could say the same to you, Dr. Kujo. It’s been what, three years?” He looked past Jotaro. “And you’ve brought guests. A lot of them. I take it that this has something to do with why you disappeared so suddenly?” 

That question was directed to Avdol, who nodded. “Jotaro called me. That’s Josuke, that’s Giorno, and there’s much more that needs to be shared.” He sat down just as Iggy made himself comfortable under the seat.

Kakyoin looked at everyone before folding his arms. He had a little smile on his face. “Well lay it on me. I’m sure I’ve heard worse, I’m friends with you, after all.”

**

“What the fuck.” Kakyoin stared at them. Giorno allowed Josuke and Jotaro to do most of the explaining about what happened to them in the other world. “So you three,” he waved his finger between Bucciarati, Abbacchio, and Narancia, “are supposed to be dead." He moved his finger towards Giorno. "And your Requiem Stand brought them back? Which made a Stand named Fayte of all things super pissed because apparently she is capable of dictating how things go in your lives? And she has to kill Bucciarati because that will revert everything back to how she wants things to play out?” He shook his head. “But that makes no sense. What’s happened has already happened, if you saved them then killing someone now is pointless. You can’t change the past.”

“Or perhaps you can.” Avdol said. “Bucciarati, tell him what happened when you saw me.”

Bucciarati nodded. “When Avdol came for us, I recognized him. Or rather, my mind did. I don’t fully remember any of this, but I have visions in my mind of seeing Avdol, a flash of the dog and… and I remember being dead. All of those visions are of that place I was when I died, which means that those two were dead as well.”

Kakyoin looked to Avdol and Iggy. “Iggy died, too?”

“He was up there. I saw him before I saw Avdol.”

Kakyoin shook his head. “But that makes no sense. Even if you came back from the dead, Avdol and Iggy never died. This happened when? 2001? I was with them for most of that year and although there were some close calls, we didn’t have any near death experiences that near. So how did you see something that didn't happen?”

And Giorno had an epiphany at that moment. If Requiem is the reason that Diavolo was sent away, as well as the reason that so many people came back, then perhaps… “What if it did happen? Just… not the way everyone remembers?”

Fugo furrowed an eyebrow. “What do you mean? They just said that they didn't come close to death around the time that you brought our team back.”

“I'm not saying I know how it happened,” Giorno responded, “just that it did. Bucciarati wouldn't make something up-”

“Oi. I'm not saying he did, I'm saying it's impossible! It has to be the side effects of whatever Requiem did to bring him back!”

Giorno sighed. He knows that Fugo is getting worked up because this is stressful, but still. “Your Stand can literally make an incurable virus that nobody has ever heard of, logic isn't needed for Stands to work.”

“They're still grounded to something in reality! Ask it!”

Giorno narrowed his eyes. “You know that it's not simple. It doesn't consider you all in a dire enough situation to appear. The only time I've seen it since any of this began was in a dream, and that was because I've been rightfully pissed off with it.”

“So if I knock you out I get some answers?” Fugo cracked his knuckles.

Giorno didn't expect it to get this heated this quickly, but as he admitted, he's not in any mood for stupid shit like this. “Fugo, that isn't going to fix anything.”

“Hey, anything is better than sitting here on our asses when we could be getting it here and figuring shit out-”

“Abbacchio!” Trish stood up suddenly. Giorno turned towards her. Despite speaking to Abbacchio, she was looking at him and Fugo. “Escort me to the bathroom.”

Narancia looked up at her. “Trish, I can take you.” He very clearly wanted to get out of his situation as fast as possible. Giorno didn't blame him; he too wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “I’m supposed to, anyway. Guardia della Principessa and all.”

“It’s fine.” She answered. Abbacchio didn’t say anything, just giving her a nod. They left the office, and the tension amongst the rest could cut like a knife. Giorno didn’t look at Fugo, but he could feel Fugo looking at him.

“My apologies,” Avdol broke the silence, “I did not know this would strike such a chord.”

“When you see your Requiem again, ask it.” Jotaro said, folding his arms. “For now, looking for answers we can’t find will get us nowhere. What we do know is that Fayte doesn’t want us together. We’re probably a much bigger problem as a group rather than separate.”

Okuyasu looked between everyone, “So this is good, right? We have everyone around.”

“We don’t,” Kakyoin responded, “we’re missing Polnareff.”

Fuck. Giorno wanted to run a hand through his hair but refused to mess up his hair. “Mr. Polnareff did die, but I- Requiem brought him back. I doubt Fayte will try to get him the way she has Bucciarati but still.” He looked at Jotaro. “Can you call him? The day he left us, he didn't leave any contact info. I suspect he didn't think he'd ever see any of us again.”

“I can't. I don’t have his number.” His eyes went to Kakyoin, who held up his hands in surrender.

“Do you know how many times he’s changed it? It’s a miracle that I kept up for more than a year.”

“I have it.” Avdol answered then.

Kakyoin seemed surprised. “You do?”

“The Speedwagon Foundation still has me as his emergency contact, I get every new number he has. I'll make the call. Jotaro, Bucciarati, would you mind coming with me into my office? I have my own collection of books and articles in there, they may have answers hidden within them. The same can be said for the rest of the collection that you see here.” He glanced at the bookshelves. “Almost all of them are about Stands or life itself.”

Bucciarati nodded, following Avdol to the door. “Fugo, come help.”

The boy was confused. “What? I’m a fast read, I’d be better help in here.”

“Then you can be quick in the office and come back.” Giorno knew that tone, it was a very very light change in his voice that other people might miss. It meant that Bucciarati would not be taking no for an answer. Fugo grumbled something that Giorno didn’t pick up before begrudgingly relenting.

When the door closed, Giorno immediately turned to everyone else. “I apologize for that. We are all under a little stress, and did not mean to make things so uncomfortable. It just feels like… insanity at times.”

Insanity. Maybe that’s what Fayte wants, for them to go insane without the answers they seek. If she knew that Requiem had its own hindrances, then of course she would try to keep them in the dark from the only thing that can help them.

“Well, maybe there’s something in here that can be helpful.” Kakyoin gestured towards the shelves. “There’s texts from across the world - from Stands, to stone masks, all sorts of things are here.”

“Is there anything about arrows?” Giorno asked. “There’s something about Fayte, something I have to figure out. If I can do some research, perhaps I can discover it.”

Kakyoin nodded. “They’re in here. The way Avdol organized all of these books doesn’t make any sense to me. I think they’re sorted by continent, region, then so on and so on. About half of them are in English. If you’re lucky. The arrows come from Greenland, so if you find the Europe section, maybe they’ll be something from there. Good luck. At my age, peeling through all of these shelves will take a toll on me. I can translate some things if you need.” Giorno silently got up and began to look through the shelves. He would have asked Mista to help him, but the oldest of his siblings didn’t look very… present right now. He was laying his head back on the couch, his eyes were elsewhere. He looked like he needed a smoke. Giorno didn’t blame him.

“Do you have anything about the Stand Virus?” He heard Josuke’s voice. Giorno almost jumped, he had completely forgotten that Josuke and Okuyasu were here. He looked out from the shelf he was browsing through and Josuke caught his eye. His cousin (he knows they’re not cousins, but it makes things a lot easier just to chalk it up like that) had a supportive smile on his face. “Might as well start cracking open some books, right? Any bit of information helps.”

“You should go home.” Giorno gave him a thousand-yard stare.

Josuke furrowed his brows. “What?”

“This is much more dangerous than we previously believed.” Giorno responded. “I am grateful to have met you, and I thank you for saving us earlier today, but I don't want either of you to end up needlessly in danger. My family’s issue is not yours.”

“We aren’t family once things get worse?” 

No. “That’s not what I... But being here very well could end your life.”

Josuke folded his arms. “I’m not in the business of leaving things unfinished, and I don’t follow instructions that I don’t like. Telling me to go home just because things look bad isn’t going to cut it.”

“Things don’t just look bad,” Giorno stressed, “things are bad. The two of you don’t need to be involved in this. Fayte said it herself, you don’t have anything to do with what I caused… or what I had brought Mr. Kujo and his friends into.”

“Giorno,” Mista called from the couch, his voice sounded disinterested. It was that lack of presence that Giorno had mentioned, “we need all the help we can get, man. Us together is a problem for Fayte, remember? That's the whole reason we're calling Polnareff.” 

“Not to mention Josuke can fuckin'see Face The Sun!” Narancia exclaimed. “Only like four of us can! Okuyasu helped Trish before he even knew her, and that freak is still out there, too.”

“We’ve had our own fights before,” Josuke added on, “and despite multiple attempts on our lives, we’re still here. Whatever Fayte wants to try and pull, she won’t get us.”

Giorno was not being heard right now. They don’t get it. They don’t understand. He doesn’t think anybody is weak, he isn’t underestimating the help they can give. He of all people understands strength in numbers. But it’s different. “I can’t guarantee your safety. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Did you sign up for saving Trish?”

Giorno went silent when he heard that from Josuke. He slowly looked at Narancia and Mista. “Who told him?”

“Trish did.” Mista clarified. “In the car, Avdol asked how we became family.” Giorno is never staying in the zipper again.

“You all put yourself on that boat for her.” Josuke spoke again. “Consider this me putting myself on the boat. And honestly? It’s whether you like it or not. Just because we don’t think that Fayte won’t come for me or Morioh, it doesn’t mean that she won’t.”

“She only wants Bucciarati.”

Okuyasu replied next, “But you can't see Face The Sun, only the tall white dude can.”

Giorno looked between the two of them, then his brothers, then to Kakyoin. The red-haired man took a step back. “I just work here, but I'm more inclined to be on the side of strength in numbers.” The boy sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He can’t do this again. If he loses another person… he doesn’t know if Requiem could bring them back, he doesn’t even know if it would.

He relented, but only slightly. “You would continue this journey whether I agreed or not, wouldn’t you?”

Josuke grinned. “Now you’re getting me. So,” he looked over to Kakyoin, this problem seemingly resolved, “Stand virus books?”

**

Bucciarati could practically feel the heat radiating from Fugo, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Well, of course he cares about him , but he knows that Fugo knows why he’s here; Fugo just doesn’t like dealing with the consequences of his actions. He heard some grumbling from the boy as Avdol was looking through a drawer for Polnareff’s number. The office was modest sized, with a dog food bowl that Iggy ran to the moment Avdol opened the door. Bucciarati chose to interest himself with the books within the office. There were a few shelves, the books on them seemed much older than the ones that he saw in the other room. Fugo was looking at them as well, but not really reading any of the spines.

3

2

1-

“I’m not a child -” there it is, “- I don’t need to be watched.”

“When you act childish, you get treated like one.”

“I could walk out of here if I wanted.” Bucciarati gestured towards the door, as if telling Fugo to do so. It’s not like he could keep Fugo in here and let him cool off, but they both know what he’s going to do. He holds Bucciarati’s gaze for a bit, then rolls his eyes. “... I wasn’t going to actually punch him.” His voice had less ice this time.

The look was given.

“I most likely wouldn’t have gone through with it. I’m better than that.”

“I know.” And Bucciarati believed him, but the probability of Fugo punching someone is never less than 25%.

“Found it.” Bucciarati looked over at Avdol, who had just finished digging through one of his drawers. “I can’t be sure that he will pick up if I call. Jotaro, can you?”

“He won’t pick up unknown numbers.” The biologist responded. “I doubt he’ll pick up my new one, even if he does see the Japan area code. But he will pick up yours.” Avdol raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You wouldn’t call him for something unserious.” Bucciarati acted as if he wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation, but he was, (can you blame him? There’s no crime in being a little nosy) and apparently so was Fugo.

“I thought they were all friends.”

“So did I.” Bucciarati signed back. “Any guesses?”

“You’re better at reading people than me.” They both looked back at Avdol and Jotaro as Avdol put the number into the landline. His metal hand clinked against his other as the line rang on and on.

And finally, it was picked up.

“What happened?” He sounded different, as if slightly taken off guard. How long has it been since Avdol had last called him if it warrants that sort of reaction?

Avdol advised him. “You’re on speaker.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“Jotaro will fill you in.” Avdol stepped away from the phone then, looking away as the other man explained over the phone. He and Bucciarati caught each other’s eyes, and Bucciarati tilted his head. His question was not answered as Polnareff spoke a little later.

“So then, either I need to get there or you need to come to me. What’s the chance of this… Face The Sun finding me alone?”

“We aren't sure yet,” Bucciarati spoke up, “but if she does, you won't see her coming, and you're toast if she gets to you. Giorno suspects that it’s ability to track us has some sort of method, but we haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“Come to me then. You can put some distance between you all and that Stand.”

“Where can we find you?”

“Hong Kong.” Bucciarati heard some shuffling from the other end. “Is Iggy coming?”

Everyone looked at Avdol, who looked down at the dog, who looked like he couldn’t care less. “...Even though he’ll probably live as long as a human, he’s still old.” Iggy growled in response.

“You don’t think he could handle a plane?”

“He hasn’t been in one since I moved here, and that was over a decade ago now. Do you want to see him?”

“Do you think I would’ve asked if I didn’t-” The line suddenly went dead, the dial tone ringing through the room. The lights flickered, before suddenly shutting off. Fugo grabbed Bucciarati's wrist.

“Scared of the dark?”

“Fuck off, Bruno.” The blonde muttered before returning to his normal volume. “Avdol, you don’t have backup lights?”

“I do. This is not a normal power outage.”

“Quite right, Mr. Avdol.” The screen on Avdol’s computer suddenly turned on, a static-y voice coming from it. 

Bucciarati was immediately on edge; it was obvious that this was another Stand attack, but it was not Fayte or Face The Sun this time. Illuminated by the light, Bucciarati’s glances at Avdol’s face. “You made any enemies before we got here?”

“...None like this.”

“An enemy?” The voice returned. It sounded female, but Bucciarati couldn’t be too certain. “No no, no, we don’t have to be enemies. All I would like to do is play a game with you all, all of you. If you will give me a second… I’m almost finished setting up the room.”

“What do you want?” Fugo approached the computer in the dark, staring at it as if trying to spot where the User might be.

“Oh please, do you think that I’m in the monitor right now? You’re going to be really bad at this game. I’m not allowed to help you - that would ruin the fun - but here’s a hint: things aren’t what they always seem.” Bucciarati heard footsteps, and the voice returned. “I should probably introduce the rules before one of you tries to stop time. I don’t recommend using your Stands.”

“Doesn’t sound very fun.”

“Those are the rules. You’ll get punished if you do. Now then, let’s begin with the first part: turn on the lights.” The voice stopped talking, leaving the four of them in the dark and the light of the monitor dimmed.

“So…” Fugo's voice cut through the darkness. “are we following the rules or are we just going to break out of the room?”

“There's no door.” Jotaro said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Brief moment of silence. Then.

“What?!”

“There's no door. It's gone. So is the lightswitch.” Fugo and Jotaro's responses were night and day between one another. There were more footsteps headed in the same direction, then Fugo’s voice.

“How the fuck did she take the door?!”

“I can take whatever I want.” The voice echoed through the computer speakers, but the monitor didn’t light up this time. “You can get it back, of course, after the game. If you win.”

“Our prize is leaving?” Bucciarati questioned as he began to move around in the dark. No lightswitch, no door. Where… or rather how do the lights turn on then?

“Well yes! Don’t worry, I’m not a Stand User who plays unfairly; if you win, you win.”

“If we lose?”

The lights flickered on. Bucciarati looked over and saw Avdol standing on his desk. He had pulled the string from the fan light. “It doesn't work usually, completely broken.”

“Things are different here.” The voice said. “What doesn't work, can work, and what usually works can disappear. Some of the answers are simple, others? Not so much.” They laughed. “Toodles! You have one hour to solve your way out of this room.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Bucciarati spoke again. “If we lose?”

A laugh came from the computer. “Then you die, of course! Now have fun; I’ll be watching.”

“Did Fayte put you up to this?” Avdol questioned. “Whatever she paid you for, we can double it.”

There was no response, and Bucciarati had believed that their captor was gone.

“What she has offered me is something that you never could.” Their voice was harsher than before. “You can unlock a camera to watch.”

“Watch? Watch what?”

“The other side of course. You’re not the only ones playing.”

**

Josuke can’t figure Giorno out and it's ruining his life. He's so good at understanding people, hence why he's been able to punch people into friendship. But Giorno is different, very different. He can't punch Giorno into friendship, this is his cousin. But his cousin is quiet and doesn't want him here and is buried in books rather than speaking to him, and in turn neither is Mista or Narancia. Whatever positivity those two had seemed to get squashed when Giorno's demeanour changed. He guesses that's what happens when your boss is your brother and also one of your best friends. Narancia wasn't even trying to help, instead he was looking at the door, waiting for Trish and Abbacchio to come back. If their boss wasn't the most uptight kid in the entire world, Josuke is sure that he and Giorno could throw around ideas and maybe actually figure something out-

“If you keep staring, your eyes are going to melt.” Okuyasu’s voice cut into Josuke’s thoughts and made him startle. “You good?”

“I was just told to get out of here, do you think I'm okay?” Josuke looked over at his cousin again. “I was basically called useless.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Giorno didn't look up from the book he was reading. “I did not call you useless.” He flipped a page.

“You might as well have.” Josuke retorted.

“Take it as you want.” The blonde said, still not looking up. Josuke narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything back, just continuing through the journals he was reading. They were interesting, but nothing that helped in their specific situation. Maybe there wouldn’t be anything in here and this was a lost cause. What if he and Giorno are a lost cause? He slumped into the seat he was in, the words blurring together as he wasn’t paying any attention at all.

“Ya think they might be family?” Okuyasu said, peering over at the book, obviously not reading anything either.

Josuke blinked. “What?”

“Face The Sun and Fayte. Do you think their Users are related? I mean, why else would two Stands be so close?”

“Good point.” Josuke responded. “Oi, Giorno. What did Bucciarati say that Stand he met said?”

Giorno thought for a few moments. “About the human world?”

Josuke nodded. “He said like… something something nothing matters, right?”

Giorno’s eyebrow twitched, and Josuke couldn’t tell if he was resisting the urge to laugh or not. “You didn’t listen to a word he said, did you?”

“I did! It was a while ago!”

“It was yesterday.”

“So like, over 24 hours ago.”

His lips quirked upward. “Metallica said that whatever happens up here, isn’t a factor down there. Fights, love, hatred, apparently none of that matters once you're dead and down there.”

“So then why does Fayte care about you guys so much? You apparently didn’t cross paths with her or FTS’ Users, and even if you did, that shouldn't cross either of their minds now since they're both dead.”

“But not if they weren't.” Kakyoin looked up from the book he was looking through. “Think about it: Metallica said it was a place where Stands wait. Sure they wait for their Users to manifest them, or wait to fully die, but who's to say they can't also simply… wait?”

Giorno raised an eyebrow, “As in the sense that neither of them are dead?”

“Just as I said.”

“But that’s impossible. A Stand can’t be without their User, and vise-versa. A human can't survive in there, we know that well now. We just learned the rules for that place, only for our enemy to immediately break them?”

Kakyoin gave an inquisitive smile, raising an eyebrow. “Well, what's a Stand that can go down there, waits, and doesn't need to obey its User?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize what Kakyoin was insinuating (except for Okuyasu, who seemed to still be deducing), and it seemed to be enough for even Mista to zone back in. “Shit,” he sat up and leaned forward, “you think she’s a Requiem?”

“There’s a possibility, but I’m not the one with that sort of Stand.” Kakyoin returned his gaze to Giorno, who let out a sigh.

“I didn’t think about that, but it makes sense. Requiem stays down there and is connected to our world, and must obey its rules even when it is not here. Fayte’s ability to write out our lives would work the same way. For some reason - whether her User knows or not - she has to see her story through because of whatever set of rules she abides by. Us ruining it…” Giorno stops, then starts again. “ Me ruining it has made her act the way she does. She is compelled to stop us, because it is in her very nature.”

“And it is in Requiem’s nature to do the exact opposite.” Kakyoin responded. He let out a wry chuckle. “They foil each other, does that interest you?

“Should it?”

“It should if you don’t believe in coincidences. Do you believe in coincidences, Giorno?”

Josuke watched Giorno look at Mista, then at Narancia, who was still looking at the door. “No. I haven't believed in coincidences in a while.”

“So there’s a reason,” Mista asked, “for all of this? Your family did something at some point that was so impactful that a Requiem Stand had to deal with it?”

“Unfortunately, it seems so. And who knows what any of us could have done. What was insignificant to us might have really pissed someone off.”

“Well, there is good news.” Okuyasu said with a grin. “Now you don’t just have to blame yourself, Giorno; there’s still Mr. Jotaro and Josuke, so all three of you can share the blame!”

Josuke gave his friend a look that said “I fuckin’ hate you right now” before realizing that he was onto something. They can always blame someone else. “Let’s throw all of this on my dad actually. Maybe he has another secret child and we’re all being punished for something that isn’t our fault. Happened to my sister.” Josuke thought about Holly for a moment, he loves that lady.

Mista widened his eyes, “You have a secret sibling?”

“I’m the secret sibling; Holly was here first.” Josuke pointed to the door that connected to Avdol’s office. “She’s Jotaro’s mom.”

“She’s what?! ” Both Giorno and Mista exclaimed in tandem. Mista laughed in disbelief. “Holy shit, I totally gotta ask him about that when they’re finished.”

Kakyoin pursed his lips. “Hm. They’ve been in there a while, and I haven't heard anything. Not even Iggy.”

“Trish and Abbacchio have been gone for a while, too.” Narancia finally spoke, it was clear he had his mind on one thing.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Mista muttered under his breath before speaking up. “I'm sure they're fine, both sets of people. One of them is probably reading and the other is probably blowing up a toilet.”

“Trish literally won't shit unless it's a house, hotel, or apartment,” (Josuke feels like he doesn't need to know that information), “they should be back by now.” Narancia looked over at them. “I don't believe in coincidences.”

Mista seemed like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Josuke spoke instead. “I might be overstepping, since I kinda just met all of y'all-”

“Probably.”

“... but she did seem like she wanted alone time. On the other hand, it's better to be wrong and careful than right and still not move. The worst she can do is beat you up and tell you to go away." That seemed to be all that Narancia needed to get up and go to the door.

And the moment his hand touched the doorknob, sparks flew from it and he was blasted backwards. Mista's eyes widened and Giorno shot out of his seat, “Narancia!”

Josuke stared at the doorknob, before whipping his head around the room to where Narancia landed. He had a nasty burn on his hand, but that's nothing for Josuke. He summoned Crazy Diamond, and came closer.

Narancia coughed, but scooted away. “If it's anything like Giorno's, I'll live without it.”

“Your hand is mangled, and Crazy Diamond doesn't hurt, I promise.” He looked at Kakyoin, who was slowly approaching the door. “Nobody else touch anything,” Josuke said before he had another burn on his hands, “not until we know what we're dealing with.”

And then the phone on the wall began to ring. Only it rang to the tune of Telephone Number , and Josuke was about 90% sure that it wasn't supposed to do that. Everyone in the room shared glances with one another, before Mista stood up. “One of you can fix me up if I end up like Nara.” He slowly approached the phone and took it off its base before putting it on speaker.

“I'll let that use of your Stand go, Higashikata Josuke. It would be unfair of me to punish you when you don't even know the rules of the game yet. And Mr. Kakyoin? I don't recommend trying the other door either, lest you want to aggravate any past injuries.”

They took too long, and now they've ended up with the consequences of being right and too slow. They were right: there are no coincidences, but they weren't fast enough to realize just how true that was.

Chapter Text

Bucciarati stared at the sight of Josuke healing Narancia. He knew the User could hear them, “I’ll kill you.”

The speaker crackled to life. “You should worry about surviving first.” The monitor suddenly fizzled out and returned to Avdol’s login screen. “This is an escape room, so of course there are puzzles, ones specifically tailored to all of you.”

“I'm guessing no hints?” Fugo questioned dryly.

“Hm, maybe you are smarter than I thought. 58 minutes, good luck.” She stopped speaking, and the screen flickered before blinking.

“Start searching,” Jotaro spoke, “if there are no hints, then the puzzles are most likely hidden in plain sight like the lightswitch.”

“Avdol,” Bucciarati called for him, “can you reopen your computer? We need the camera.” The Egyptian nodded, his fingers clacking away before furrowing his eyebrows.

“Strange, it won’t let me type in my full password; I can only type in six characters instead of my seven.”

Bucciarati heard Fugo snort. It was as if the first puzzle couldn’t get any more obvious. Avdol clicked the enter key nonetheless, and was met with the password is incorrect box. And then, a black box with green text appeared beneath it.

The world is often in shades of grey, but what about the most important thing to you in your world, Mr. Avdol? Is what matters to you the most in all black and white? 1s and 0s?”

All eyes went to the computer’s owner, who furrowed his eyebrows. This was… extremely specific targeting.

“Pierre?” Bucciarati read the name aloud that Avdol typed in. Six letters. His hand hovered over the enter key.

“You never called him that.” Jotaro’s voice was behind him and Avdol now.

“His last name is too long, and Jean doesn’t have enough letters.”

Oh. Polnareff. Oh damn.

“Ones and zeroes…” Fugo was to Bucciarati’s left now, also peering over. Bucciarati was no good at puzzles like these, but the blonde was.

“What do you see?”

“Pierre isn't the right answer. Firstly: Jean-Pierre is one name so the entire thing would have to go in.” Fugo looked at Avdol, who moved to let him sit down in his chair. “I don’t do… escape rooms, but I do like puzzles, mystery novels, crosswords, stuff like that. You’re supposed to take everything in and filter out red herrings. That hint was so short that I doubt there are any intentions to throw us off, which means that we need to take in every single word. Which brings me to my second thought: I don’t think the new password wants letters at all.” Bucciarati didn't follow, but Fugo typed along the keyboard without elaborating. He chuckled, seemingly proud of himself. “I knew it. It doesn’t fit.” Bucciarati stared at the screen. 169518185 was in the textbox.

“So what does this mean?” Avdol questioned.

“That no part of Polnareff’s name that could possibly fit in this box.” Fugo turned to Avdol, “Is there anything else that fits the criteria?”

It took Avdol a few moments to think before looking down at the ground. “Yes, there is, actually.”

Bucciarati followed Avdol's gaze and - ah, of course. Who else other than his four legged companion?

Iggy looked up at them, and stared into Avdol's eyes for a few seconds before going in a circle a few times and sleeping. “97725,” Fugo said, “I.G.G.Y.”

“That's only five, though.”

“But it fits. Just because six is the max, doesn't mean it has to be six.” Fugo hit the enter key, and the computer unlocked. They once more could see into the main room. Of course, they still couldn't hear the others, but they could see them searching through the room, trying to solve a puzzle of their own. Only… something about the office now looked off, very off.

**

“What the fuck…” Josuke murmured to himself. In the blink of an eye, the entirety of the room had been rearranged, except not in the way one would think. Everything was still here, only backwards. All the books had mirrored writing, the table was now on the other side, it was like being in a reverse image of their entire world.

“How the hell are we supposed to get out of here if you won’t even tell us what the puzzles are?!” Narancia yelled into the air, yet the User didn’t answer. Josuke looked at the backwards clock. If he was reading this correctly, they had 55 minutes before sudden death. Peachy.

“There’s gotta be something around.” Narancia questioned. “A Stand big enough to encompass the room is gonna have to have left something behind, right? Some proof of its existence in one way or another! There’s something here. A weakness, anything!”

“Narancia,” Giorno was eerily calm, “hunting for a weakness in a room full of items is not as easy as you think. Not to mention, we are on a time crunch. Less than an hour before we all die.”

“She could be lying!”

Okuyasu kind of just stared at him. “Um… dude, she shocked you with a wooden doorknob so badly that it fried your hand. I don’t think she’s lying.”

“I agree,” Kakyoin added, “and I believe that I have found our first clue.” Josuke looked over at the man, who was looking at a piece of paper on the desk. “‘You found a piece of me, hidden behind the monitor beyond.’”

“Those aren’t clues,” Josuke sounded slightly exasperated, “those are ancient spell words that make zero sense. What monitor- your computer? It doesn’t work.” It was true, one of the first things that they did was try to access the computer, only for it to be unable to turn on even though it was plugged up.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Giorno said, “I think we have to look at things differently. The room is reversed, right?” He walked over to the computer cord, “Then maybe we need to reverse our thinking.” He pulled the cord out of the outlet, and the monitor turned on. The writing on the screen was backwards, and Josuke wasted no time in taking out his pocket mirror.

“‘Double, turn, toil, trouble. Who is the worst in the mirror?' The worst? The worst at what?”

“It’s from Macbeth.” Mista answered, “At least the first part is.” Everyone stared at him, and his cheeks became lightly tinted. “Oi, not just you and Fugo read! And the rest of ya barely know me, so can it, okay?” He ignores Narancia’s snicker and continued. “In Macbeth, the dude is told by some witches that he can kill the king of Scotland or somethin’, and then he gets paranoid and starts killing a bunch of people, and then people keep on dyin’. It’s like an endless cycle. The witches say that turn toil thingy in their weird song.”

“So then what are we looking for?” Okuyasu asked. “Someone who’s like the witches? They’re the worst, right? They told the guy about everything that would happen.”

“But that doesn’t mean he had to kill as many people as he did.” Josuke replied. “He sealed his own fate because he was so paranoid. Macbeth is the most guilty person in Macbeth. That makes him the worst.” Josuke looked at the faces of everyone. “What? I read sometimes.” He looked at Kakyoin and murmured. “Surprised that you haven’t read it.”

“Never said that I haven’t. So then we’re looking for our Macbeth, someone with that much baggage.”

“Put my name in. Giorno Giovanna if you need my last name as well.” The air in the room went stale, yet Giorno still maintained his unwavering expression.

Josuke gave an awkward chuckle. “I know you did some stuff, and the whole saving Trish thing, but you can’t be-”

The computer screen changed. Analyzing answer was what it read for a few seconds, then in green text,

Correct!

They’re all quiet for a few moments, only for Mista to break the silence, “You read Macbeth, Gio?”

“No.”

“You’re not like him.”

There was a brief bit of silence again. “I appreciate that.” 

The computer changes screens and Josuke once again uses his compact mirror to read the next message. “‘You do not exist as your real self. You must look beyond, find your truth, find what you love and leave it within the mirror.’” Josuke looked over at Mista. “You got any more books?”

“This doesn’t sound like a book quote. These things are centered around the mirror. Macbeth felt like a personal attack. Leaving what you love in the mirror… that sounds personal, too. Anybody got anything valuable on them?”

“My car keys,” Narancia said, “since I had to save up for it. Bucciarati and Abbacchio didn’t buy me one. It was my first big purchase.” Narancia fished out his keys from his pocket and came up to Josuke’s mirror, holding them out. The mirror didn’t change, nor did the computer react to what Narancia had said.

“It needs to be more personal.”

“What’s more personal than my car?!” Narancia said, slightly frustrated. He read the backwards clock, or at least tried to. “Gio! How much time do we have left?”

“Forty-nine minutes.”

“What else do you want, lady?!”

“Try something else.” Kakyoin advised before Narancia’s yelling got any louder. “Maybe it needs to relate to us. Something that we have a real emotional connection to.”

Narancia furrowed his eyebrows for a few seconds, before snapping his fingers. “Got it! My headphones in my bag!” He pointed to his pouch that was laying haphazardly in a corner. “When we were fighting back in ‘01, I thought I’d lose my hearing because one of the poles had apparently hit some nerves. I thought I’d never hear again or get to listen to music. So now… I don’t take being able to use those things for granted.” Josuke let him take his compact mirror and get the headphones.

Mista made a face, “Nara, I don’t think that’s the answer.” But as if on cue, the computer screen changed to say ⅓.

And then Narancia dropped the mirror. His eyes were wide and he took a step away from his bag. “Narancia.” Mista called for his friend, who was unresponsive. He walked over to the wall, and punched it. “Narancia!!” Both Mista and Giorno yelled at him. “What the hell are you doing, man?!”

“She took it.”

Josuke was confused. “Your headphones? Yeah we knew she was going to take them, since you offered them up. What are you freaking out about? We’ll get them back when we beat this place.” Narancia didn’t say anything back, still looking at the wall. Then he held his hand up to his right ear and snapped, after that, he did the same to his left ear. He began to snap in both of his ears while he turned back around to everyone.

“She took it. I can’t- I can’t hear anything.” It was then that two things happened at once. Mista fired his gun into the air vent above them out of what looked like sheer anger, and Narancia lunged for the computer. Mista got electrocuted, just like Narancia did when he touched the doorknob.

Josuke and Okuyasu both went for a man, with the latter being closest to Narancia and grabbing him before he could lay waste to the computer. “Hey man, calm down!” 

Giorno stepped in front of Narancia and moved his hands. He must’ve been signing because Narancia glared at him and yelled. “What the fuck do you mean I need to calm down?! I can’t fucking hear and you want me to calm down?! I don’t even know how loud I am!"

At the same time, Josuke had grabbed Mista’s wrist to stop him from firing any more shots. “What the hell-!” He stopped when Mista put a finger to his lips, then gestured over to Josuke’s compact mirror. Josuke glanced over into it before he said anything else, and widened his eyes. In the corner of the mirror, he could see a green humanoid figure with solid pink eyes and spots all over its body. This must be the Stand, has it been there the whole time? Its attention seemed to be on Narancia, and its face took on a twisted grin before it disappeared in a haze of green smoke.

“Don’t speak loudly,” Mista whispered, “unless you want it to come back. I don’t think it can always see us, but it’s always listening in.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Watch.” Mista grabbed Narancia and Giorno’s attention, instructing them not to talk as well. Josuke watched him sign to the two, realization dating on their faces. Mista finished and picked up the mirror, using it to look around the room. “It's still gone.” He whispered, putting down the mirror so he could sign for Narancia's sake. “It only comes in to watch us when we say certain things in order to make sure that we're not doing anything wrong. If it could see us, it would’ve seen me sign, and we would see it in the mirror.”

“So we need to whisper and sign, and then we're fine?”

“No.” Kakyoin said quietly. “It'll know something is amiss if we go silent for long periods of time.” He raised his voice up to its normal volume. “We need to keep going. We have to give up two more things.”

Josuke nodded, tossing his mirror to Okuyasu, “Watch for it in the mirror.” He whispered, before speaking to Giorno, who was translating everything for Narancia. “Don't let Narancia speak, he can't tell how loud his voice is.”

Giorno did so, and Narancia signed back. “‘So we're pretending that we're still playing the game?’”

“We have to keep playing.” Kakyoin answered, then dropped his voice once more. “At least until we figure out how to fight this thing.”

“Hey… Mr. Kakyoin?” Okuyasu looked behind himself to the corner of the ceiling, then back into the mirror. “I think someone’s watching us, unless you keep cameras down here.”

Kakyoin moved from the desk, “No, no we don’t.” He looked into the mirror and also looked behind them at the corner. He held up two fingers to the camera before speaking Japanese, “Did it come back?” Okuyasu checked before shaking his head. “I doubt the User can understand Japanese, so I was using it as a test. But I also don’t think that she’s the one watching us.” Kakyoin then flipped off the camera. “Still nothing?!”

“It didn't come back.”

“So then… I can assume that she's in the room with the others, watching them. I just hope that they've figured this out as well.”

**

Fugo looked at Kakyoin flipping off the computer camera, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He can’t believe they managed to figure out the location of the camera. He moved his body so that the entirety of the screen would be obscured if the Stand was in fact in here with them. It was a blessing that they had started signing, but Fugo was going to kill the Stand User if Narancia didn't get his hearing back at the end of this. He could feel the anger bubbling in his chest, but he knew to keep it under control, at least for right now. He would find a time to let it out. He signed to Bucciarati, relaying what happened as well as mentioning that the Stand could be in here. “Sign for plotting, puzzles we can still talk about out loud.”

“How do we communicate this to them without speaking?” Bucciarati looked back at the other men. “Can we even communicate with them?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think they have a camera.”

“But we have a mirror.” Bucciarati unzipped one of his zippers and pulled out one of Trish’s compacts. “What? I couldn’t find mine.”

“She’ll get you for that.”

“Not if you don’t tell her.” Bucciarati began to scan around the room as Fugo turned to the two other men looking for the next puzzle, which made Fugo remember what they had learned about Avdol in the elevator. 

He signed. “You got all of that?”

“Loud and clear.”

“And Mr. Jotaro?”

“He'll be fine.”

Fugo looked over at Jotaro, who seemed to be more concerned with anything being out of place. Just like their friends in the other room, they still needed to get out of here. He met Bucciarati’s gaze and was given a nod; they’re alone, for now. Fugo looked back at the computer monitor, but not to look at the camera, he was remembering the puzzle. Iggy. It led them to him on the screen, so maybe…

Fugo does not want to touch this dog, yet here he was, reaching down beneath Avdol’s chair. “Psst. Iggy. Is there anything down there with you?” The old dog growled at being woken up, and Fugo jerked his hand back when Iggy tried to bite it off.  Fugo lifted his head up. “You got any of that gum?”

“Unfortunately,” Avdol said, “Kakyoin has it with him.”

“I got it.” Jotaro lifted up the chair and stared down at Iggy. “You wanna die in here?” Iggy began to growl at him, Jotaro looked unimpressed. “Don’t be a bitch, Iggy. If you’re sitting on something, we need it. Or, I’m going to drop this chair on you.” Iggy growled louder, as if inviting Jotaro to try. “You can’t use The Fool in here. No Stands means that when this drops on you, you’re going to be black, white, and red all over.” Iggy seemed to weigh his choices after that, and decided that getting a chair dropped on him wasn’t worth it. He moved, and Fugo’s hunch was right; there was a slip of paper where the dog was previously laying down. 

“‘Scattered amongst the bookshelves, pages of the past are present. Find the one tied to the heart, and the sands of the next puzzle will reveal themselves.’”

“My journals,” Avdol deduced, “this must refer to the one with photos from our trip to Egypt.” The man went to one of his shelves and quickly pulled it out. It definitely looked two decades old as Avdol flipped through the pages, not showing anyone its contents until he found what they were looking for. The page was more worn and yellow compared to the others, and had different writing. “‘Your heart and soul is amongst these pages, those you love have all been preserved for eternity. But for those who only keep their most precious people within their mind, release them into the journal where they may be preserved for all of time.’” Beneath the instructions were three rows with six dashes in each; it was their turn to reveal something. Fugo wanted to make a snide remark about this User wanting to be all up close and personal with them, but decided that bringing unwanted attention to them right now wouldn’t be the smartest option.

“It’s not names this time.” Fugo deduced as he began going through the names of everyone in his family. “The most important person in my life doesn’t have a six-lettered name, or one that adds up to six letters if the puzzle is solved with numbers again.”

“Everyone has a six numbered birthday, though.” Bucciarati offered as he stayed by the computer, mirror still in hand. “Avdol, which way do you write birthdays?”

“Month, day, year.”

“Write down 02141985.” As Avdol did so, Fugo looked over at Bucciarati, who didn’t comment on the birthday they used, instead he was acting as if he was checking his reflection in the compact. He furrowed his brows before brushing something away from his face. His next words were in Italian, mumbled as if he was talking to himself. “I can see it directly behind me.” He turned to face Fugo, his eyes giving nothing about the situation away. “My face look okay?”

Fugo nodded, keeping his cool as well. “You look fine. I don’t know what you were looking for.”

“You never know.” He tossed Fugo the compact. “Avdol, did it work?”

“The ink is still on the paper, so I assume so.”

“I’ll go next.” Fugo said, opening the compact and placing it on the table. He could see the Stand as well, its pink eyes staring at them from its place in the corner. He didn’t dwell on the fact that the Stand could electrocute them the way it did Mista, and who knows what else if it noticed that they knew of its location. Fugo looked away from the mirror and continued speaking, “09271980.” Fugo could see Bucciarati’s gaze soften out the corner of his eye, and he almost smiled. If this was under any other circumstances, he most likely would have. “You’re all that’s left, Mr. Jotaro.”

But Jotaro didn’t respond right away, instead he looked at Avdol’s journal. “We still don’t know what happens to whoever’s birthdate we put in here.” Shit. Fugo hadn’t thought of that.

He glanced over at Bucciarati. Good thing they had put down each other. “Well, we know what happens to us if we don’t finish the puzzle. Nothing should happen to anyone if we win, right? The Stand only affects those who lose or don’t follow the rules.” 

That wasn’t enough for Jotaro, “Are you going to tell us what happens to the people who are written into your puzzle?”

Fugo turned his gaze to the mirror, where the Stand was looking at Jotaro. It moved out of the view of the mirror and closer to the older man, and Fugo slowly began to turn the mirror. “Now Jotaro, you don’t think I’d hurt anyone that isn’t playing our game, hm?” Fugo saw that the Stand wasn’t speaking; the User’s voice was still coming from the computer speakers. Jotaro didn’t respond, and the User continued. “Mirror Mirror can only hurt those within the room. Those outside will remain unharmed.”

“What about the two birthdays that are already written into the journal? Narancia had to give up their hearing, so the price for having their birthday in here must be higher than that.”

The User chuckled through the speaker. “You figured it out much earlier than other people who have played these games, but it’s all in the name of winning, hm?”

Oh, they’re going to both die. How fun. “Temporarily, right?” Fugo questioned the mechanisms of the Stand. “You said we get to keep our lives if we figure out how to get out of here.”

“She doesn’t know what happens at the end,” Avdol said, glancing down at the mirror for a second, “because nobody has ever made it out.”

Fugo’s eyes widened.

“Don’t say it like that, Mr. Avdol.” She didn’t sound the least bit concerned, “I think we should look towards the positives: I have a 100% success rate in all of my jobs. If you get out within the next 38 minutes, I’m sure that their lives will return to their bodies.”

“The moment I die,” Bucciarati finally said something, “Fayte wins. Temporary or not, all of this is over the moment I’m gone.” He looked over. “Don’t write another thing down.”

“So you’re going to let the rest of your friends die? The clock is still ticking, Bucciarati.”

“We’re almost out of this, everyone.” He was actively ignoring the User. “Playing is how we secure our loss. Playing by her rules, at least. I think I got all of that right, Giorno.” Bucciarati moved out of the way, showing the computer monitor to everyone in the room. Standing in front of the camera was their Don, a determined look on his face and a compact mirror in hand. He must have just finished signing something to Bucciarati, completely unable to see if there was anyone looking back at him. Nothing but raw trust in them on the other side. Giorno signed into the camera once more.

“Don’t do anything else.”

An instruction from Giorno? That was enough for Fugo. Her voice reached through the speakers. “You’re going to let that idiot kid stop you from getting out of here?”

“If you have an issue with it,” Bucciarati tapped the screen, “take it up in the other room.” Fugo was able to look through the mirror and look at Mirror Mirror scream silently before phasing out of the room.

Avdol was the first to let out a breath, before speaking to Bucciarati. “What is Giorno doing?”

“Hell if I know.” Bucciarati responded. “But he has a plan of some sort, he always does.”

“What did he tell you?”

“to stop playing to escape, and to play to win."

**

Giorno kept his gaze on the corner of the ceiling until he was zapped where he stood, compact clattering to the floor. He gasped and clutched his chest, he could hear his heart in his ears, and couldn’t feel his fingers or toes. “How the hell did you do that?” Her voice echoed through the room as Mista helped him stand back up.

That means one of them saw what Giorno was saying. Good. He coughed, “Welcome back.”

“Don’t be smart with me, Giorno Giovanna. I’ll shock you till your heart stops.”

“I haven’t broken any rules; you’re playing your own game unfairly. You didn’t say we couldn’t speak to the others, and even then I didn’t technically say anything.” Giorno saw Mirror Mirror look at the compact, and the Stand grimaced before punching the mirror, glass shattering. Giorno looked over at the horrified faces of Josuke and Okuyasu. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Forget getting him a new one, now how else are we supposed to get out of here?!” Okuyasu yelled, staring at the shards of glass.

“We will.” Giorno said calmly. There was a plan, of course, but Giorno couldn’t divulge it aloud, or they’d all be screwed. For now, he just needed to look like everything was fine and under control because clearly, their adversary hated that sort of mindset. Her game wasn’t one that they could win fairly, so Giorno was betting on her one weakness that she let show:

“You getting out of here is as likely as me winning the lottery!” 

Her anger. 

“There’s nothing you can do now but wait for that clock to run out and drop dead.”

“Oi, Giorno!” Josuke had made it over to him and grabbed his collar before Mista ripped his hand off of him.

“Back the fuck up.”

“It’s fine.” Giorno said, dusting off his suit jacket where he had been grabbed.

Josuke picked up right where he left off. “You have an idea or somethin’?”

“I do.”

“Then maybe you wanna clue us in?”

“Can’t.”

“The hell you mean you can’t? We have less than half an hour now!” Giorno glanced upwards, giving Josuke his answer without speaking. “Who cares if we’re heard now?! She knows you’re trying to break out of here, so you might as well at least say something.”

“Can’t.” Giorno said again. If it was just pertaining to them in here, he would’ve given Josuke something to go off of, but he couldn’t do that, not yet. For as long as possible, he needs to keep Mirror Mirror in here, occupied and confused even if neither it nor its User would admit it.

But then he heard laughter, her laughter. “Oh my god, don’t tell me-” She cut herself off with a cackle, “don’t tell me your plan is that stupid. Are you all slow? Is that what it is? You think that those two on the outside - Trish and Abbacchio, right? You think that those two are going to be able to save you?” She laughed again. “If you know that nobody can get out of Mirror Mirror, what makes you think that anybody is going to be able to get in? You don’t think that they’ve realized by now that you all are trapped?”

Giorno let out a breath. He could show his hand now if he wanted to. “I do know that they’ve probably realized something’s wrong, but don’t you think we all know what to do if we can’t beat the Stand?” Giorno looked at the clock, twenty-six minutes left.

“As if either of them will be able to sniff me out before the time runs out.”

“Maybe so, if we didn’t know your face,” Mista said, “but I got a pretty good look at it. You know who we all are, right? I’m sure Fayte told you all about us. You should probably remember what Abbacchio’s Stand is before believing that the time'll run out first.”

There was silence, and Giorno could practically feel the sweat dripping from their enemy. “It’s up to you,” he added, “if you want to choose between monitoring us or defending yourself.” Giorno looked down into the broken glass. He couldn’t see Mirror Mirror from this angle, but considering that none of them got electrocuted, he can assume that she picked the latter option. He wanted to let out a sigh of relief, but this wasn’t over. Everything was in place, but they still had to rely on their friends on the other side. Twenty-five minutes to wait. Twenty-five minutes to think about every possible thing that could happen. He looked over at Josuke. “Now it doesn’t matter if she can hear us or not. People make mistakes when they’re agitated, and I knew how to push her buttons. I couldn’t say anything because I was trying to buy Trish and Abbacchio some time before I realized that it doesn’t matter. Her Stand can’t have an ability this large and have much power. When they find her, her only option is to run away and we’ll be out of range, or she’ll be cocky and fight, which will lead to her ability deactivating when she’s knocked out.”

“And how sure are you guys that Abbacchio's Stand is going to be able to actually find her in time?”

“One hundred percent.” Narancia added to the conversation as he watched Mista’s hands, albeit he still couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice. “Abbacchio can find out anyone’s identity fast, there’s no doubt about that.”

Josuke glanced between the three Italians, Giorno could see that he was trying to see if he believed them or not. Then, he turned to Kakyoin. “You got any cards?”

The older man blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Playing cards. I don’t like sitting around doing nothing. I’m gonna have to find some way to keep myself entertained till we’re busted out of here.”

“Is this really the best time to be playing a game?”

“Hey man, we just finished playing one.” Josuke grinned. “We can bet.”

“I’m in.” Narancia walked over to him, “You know how to play spades?”

As the others began to gather around to pass the time, Giorno looked back at the clock again. 

Twenty-four.

**

Contrary to what everyone else was thinking, Trish really did need to use the bathroom, it just so happened that it wasn’t her primary reason for leaving the room. She had chosen Abbacchio to come with her rather than Narancia because he won’t ask her to talk about what’s bothering her, which is something she really doesn’t want to do right now. She wants to sit with herself and her thoughts, and the only place she could really do that here was in the bathroom. Trish took a breath as she washed her hands. Bucciarati might die, she had a creepy fanmeet in the airport, she watched Giorno disappear right before her eyes, and found out that three members of her family were slated to die and that their future wasn’t even their own. Great. Just great. Trish was going to lose it, is what she would say if she had any time at all to have the cute little breakdown that she very much deserved.

She dried her hands and left the bathroom, where Abbacchio was leaning against the wall. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. Trish joined him, looking up at the ceiling. “You ever think we’re gonna travel again after this?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, this museum is nice, and we all know English and Japanese now.”

“You had Rohan put Japanese in your head?”

“You didn’t? I need to show everyone at school how cool I am when I get back.”

Abbacchio let out a small chuckle, “Always the attention whore.”

“Fuck off.” Trish lightly kicked his ankle, but her own smile didn’t waver.

“I think we can, though.” Abbacchio answered her question, “Maybe not everyone will want to come but, I’ll take you. If we finish this soon, we can take a later flight than everyone else and stay for a few days.” They returned to silence again after that, at least for a few minutes. It gave Trish time to collect herself as best she could. She would consider herself pretty stoic for the most part by now, nothing really phases her, except for things like this. “Ready to go back in?”

“Fuck no.” She held out her hand. “You have a smoke?”

“Trish I haven’t smoked in two years, and we’re inside a building.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“No, Mista does, though.”

“I thought he was stopping, too.”

“It’s his emergency pack. I saw him pack it.”

Trish would’ve said something about her knowing that Abbacchio probably has an emergency pack somewhere on his person had she not started hearing something that sounded suspiciously like her name being called in a high-pitched tone. Even more suspiciously, it sounded like Sex Pistols. “Trish! Abbacchio!” Their names were called over and over while Number One, Five, and Seven came up to them holding a bullet, panic written all over as they all tried to explain themselves at once until Number One yelled at them. “One at a time! Everyone got attacked by a Stand User-”

“- and we only have forty-eight minutes left before they all die!” Number Seven added on. “Mista shot us out so we could come find you-”

“But Two said that we should go find the User instead because we know what she looks like, and Three and Six went with him!!” Number Five wailed.

“That’s the worst idea Number Two has ever had.” Trish said with a sigh. What are they going to do with one bullet in a museum full of people? She doesn’t doubt that they’re good, but they can’t really relaunch the bullet.

“Where did you see the Stand User?” Abbacchio questioned, focusing on what they could do. “If I find her before the Pistols do, we can stop them and Mista from getting injured needlessly.”

“We saw her at the front!” Number One exclaimed. “You saw her, too!”

It took Abbacchio a second, then sighed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Come on.”

The Pistols explained the situation in more detail as they ran to the front of the museum. “Mista shot us out on a whim!” Number Five said worrisomely. “He was shocked, but I don’t think she could feel us leave because of our size but still!” He was about to sob again. “Mista!!!”

Trish put him in her hand so he’d shut up for a little bit. “Moody Blues will find the User, don’t worry.” She looked around as they got to the front, summoning Spice Girl to defend them just in case. “Don’t use the bullet.” Trish warned the Pistols, “There’s too many people.” Spice Girl hovered in front of Moody Blues as she turned into the User. Trish tilted her head as she saw a pink and green haired woman about her age. “Are you sure this is her?”

“Mista was trying to hit on her when we stopped in here,” Abbacchio responded, rewinding Moody Blues about half an hour, “he would’ve been left behind if I didn’t notice him.” Trish kept looking around as Abbacchio pressed play. Trish saw the young woman smile. “She’s trying to talk to Mista.” Her eyes widened and she gave a wave. “And that’s when I pulled him away to get back on track.” She kept up her smile before eventually dropping it and starting to move. She went… to the bathroom? They followed Moody Blues inside, the woman beginning to whistle as she walked into the lady’s room, going into a stall and coming out with something else. Abbacchio sped Moody Blues slightly up, and they watched her stand on the sink and began to mime unscrewing one of the ceiling panels, taking the nails with her. She pushed it open and jumped up into the crawlspace. Abbacchio paused Moody Blues and had her revert to her original form. Trish looked up at her, and the Stand extended a hand down for them. 

Blues reverted to Bucciarati. “Not enough room… Abbacchio. Only… for two.” She turned back into herself, and held out her hand for Trish again.

She looked over at Abbacchio, who nodded, “I'll follow from here. Keep the Pistols with you” Trish had Spice Girl's hand grab onto Moody Blues, and they were pulled up into the vent. Abbacchio turned Moody Blues back into the User, and they continued on. They put the panel back into place and resumed whistling. Blues was right: this was a very tight fit for the two,this would've been impossible with Abbacchio. Trish followed behind Moody Blues, making their way through the cramped vents. She jumped down the duct into a separate and even smaller section of the system. Trish shimmied down until they were in the lower level of the museum, this is where Avdol’s offices were. Moody Blues started whistling again as they traveled lower until they were inside a large open duct. Trish saw Moody Blues hop in and sit criss crossed on the floor by an open vent. This must be where she was waiting while all of them were talking to one another. Before Trish called Abbacchio to tell him to speed up his Stand, she looked around. There were a few bags of chips, some water, and blood around the floor that wasn’t completely dry yet.

And then Trish heard talking beneath her. It was extremely muffled, but it sounded like there was some laughter, and it was very distinct. It was Mista’s voice. They were down there, right below her, and she can’t even bust a hole and save everyone the way she wanted to. She knows that she can’t tamper with the area itself, but maybe they’ll be able to hear her. She stomped on the vent in code that only her family would know. The laughing died down after they heard her, and soon after, she heard a hand tap against the vent, returning the code to her. They know she's coming, just hold on.

“The blood goes this way.” Spice Girl looked at the other side of the duct. “This one goes back up, and there’s a bullet in here. Blood, too.” Spice Girl began to climb up the vent, making it soft enough for her to lodge her hands and feet into.

Trish was forcibly being pulled with her. “Give me a sec!”

“Instead of worrying about them knowing if you’re here or not, we need to follow the User. We don’t have seconds to spare.” Spice Girl looked back down at her. “I am going. It’s up to you if you want to be dragged or want to climb like a normal person.”

Trish gave her Stand a look as she flipped open her phone, dialing Abbacchio. “You get freer every month.”

“You act like that’s a bad thing.”

Trish didn't answer, Abbacchio picking up her call. “Found her?”

“Getting closer. Speed up Moody Blues a bit.” Trish looked at the bullet lodged in the vent, softening the area around it in order to pull it out. “The Pistols shot her.” She looked down at a faster Moody Blues, who began to talk, smile evilly, most likely use her Stand, then began to climb out the duct. “We’re coming back up.” Trish said, having Spice Girl help pull her up as Moody Blues climbed up behind them, talking to those that she had trapped without a care in the world. They ended up in a broom closet, where the User had opened the door and continued walking around the museum until she stopped, then got an angry look on her face and she began to yell. She had wide worried eyes before she saw something that made her freak out and bolt back the way she came. “Put Blues back on normal speed, I think we’re watching the User get chased by the Pistols.” Moody Blues looked behind herself, ducking her head and running back into the broom closet before letting out a shout of pain. Her shoulder began to bleed as a clean shot went through. She dove back into the duct and fell down. “The Pistols shot her!” Trish exclaimed over the phone. “We’re going back down, go back to the bathroom!” The Pistols must have crashed the bullet into the wall trying to shoot her again.

“Pieces of shit.” She murmured. “Tiny little fuckers.” The User grabbed her shoulder, looking back at where Trish assumed the Pistols were. “Mirror Mirror.” She murmured her Stand’s name, and Trish watched Moody Blues begin to scamper away.

“She used her Stand to hold them off, but it must not have that much power. Mista doesn’t sound hurt, but it seemed to shake them off.” Trish recounted as they followed Moody Blues.

“Then where would they be if they stopped following her?” Abbacchio questioned as Moody Blues scampered out of the ducts. When they came back out, they were on the other side of the bathroom, where the replica of the User slowly looked over where Abbacchio and Trish had been, before continuing to run off.

They had just missed her, but they wouldn't make this mistake again.

Trish hung up the phone as they ran after the Stand. “She's injured, and she doesn't seem to be much of a fighter.”

“She's probably used to her enemies dying before they ever see her face.”

Still, something was off about their enemy. She seemed way too easy. What seasoned killer runs back into their compromised hiding spot? Even Trish in her first week of fighting for her life was smarter than that. Moody Blues was sped up as they ran across the street so they could catch up with the User, at least until Trish hears something: the high pitched and angry cursing of the other Pistols. She can’t believe it, they actually found her. The duo followed the voices through the crowd with them getting louder and louder until she spotted the woman nearby, pushing her way through the crowd while holding her arm. She was slower than the two of them, and probably still would have been even if she hadn’t been shot and had yellow creatures pulling and biting at her hair. Trish lunged and grabbed the woman by her wrist. “Good job Pistols, go back to the museum and get yourself a snack.” She was trembling in Trish’s grasp. Mirror Mirror was summoned just as Abbacchio and Moody Blues walked up behind her, cutting off any form of escape. Trish grinned. “Buongiorno.” Trish wasted no time to punch her in the face, her Stand was just as slow as she is. It only took one more to knock her flat on her back.

Abbacchio looked down at the woman. “Buongiorno? It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Be honest, didn’t I sound cool?” 

Abbacchio rolled his eyes and picked her up, slinging her over her shoulder. “Our phones haven’t started blowing up, so we can assume that they’re still trapped. So her range is far enough that she could escape and her Stand Ability is still active?”

“Can I shoot her?”

“Not right now. What if her Stand ability lasts even if she dies? Besides, Giorno and Bucciarati would want to question her.” Trish relented as they walked back into the museum, getting strange looks as they had a woman thrown over an adult man’s back. They made their way into the elevator. “Besides, we don’t need her to fall asleep when her brain stops rattling around.” He pressed the button, only for the elevator to remain where it was.

Trish spoke up. “You need a key-”

Moody Blues punched the elevator panel, and it began to descend.

“-card.”

“Josuke can fix it. Hold her.” Abbacchio unceremoniously tossed the woman into Trish’s arms. She began to blink and look around.

Trish’s smile was anything but friendly. “Never been punched that hard?” It took her a few moments to realize the predicament that she was in, and tried to scramble out of Trish’s grasp. “You’re in an elevator, dumbass.” Trish grabbed her tighter. “Where the hell are you gonna go?” The doors opened back up, and Trish dragged the woman by her hair towards the door. “So here’s what’s gonna happen, hun.” Trish forcibly grabbed her hand. “You’re going to turn off your Stand ability, then we’re gonna walk in here, answer our questions and…” Trish looked over at Abbacchio, who nodded. “And our bosses will figure out what to do with you next.”

The woman looked up at Trish with terrified eyes, her pink and green hair falling into her face. “D-Don’t kill me.”

“Not up to me.” Trish summoned Spice Girl. “Unless you don’t want to turn off the fucked up escape room.” It took no time for the woman to summon Mirror Mirror, and she walked up to the door.

“Don’t fuck around,” Abbacchio stared at her, “or I’ll be the one breaking your jaw.” The woman seemed to turn a bit paler and Mirror Mirror’s stand put its hand on the door. A green timer appeared with fifteen minutes on it and counting down. Then suddenly, all the time ran out and an alarm blared. Trish widened her eyes. This witch! But before even she or Spice could react, Abbacchio kicked the woman in the back with so much force that the metal door was kicked in as well. Trish looked into the room as the woman tumbled onto the ground. Cards, they were playing cards. Trish had to crawl through air vents and they were playing cards?! 

She huffed then pointed to the door across the hall. “The others are in there?” Giorno nodded as Mista started cheating at the game while Narancia grinned.

“I can hear!” 

Trish pointed at her. “She’s the User, go crazy but leave her alive. The Pistols are breaking into a vending machine.” Trish opened the door to the smaller office, a sigh of relief breathing through Fugo and Bucciarati when they saw her. “Told you there was a Stand User following us. Turns out that there’s two of them.” She looked back at Narancia kicking her teeth in. “You probably should get to her before she passes out. I told them not to but-”

“I’m gonna bomb you until you don’t have any remains for anyone to find!”

They all left out of the room with Bucciarati going to Narancia and Mista before they killed her. She was bloody and bruised, welts already forming on her body. Bucciarati bent down to her trembling body on the floor. “Josuke, can you fix her for me?”

“Sure.” When she looked good as new, Trish watched Bucciarati waste no time unzipping her legs to keep her from trying to run. Trish expected him to threaten her, to tell her something or another, but she did not expect what he did ask.

“What’s your name? You don't look like you're from Japan.” His voice was kind, far too kind to be talking to someone who tried to kill them. Trish blinked, then looked over at one half of her parental unit. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Bucciarati, we don’t have time to be screwing around and getting buddy-buddy with her,” That was from Mista, “who knows how many others there are. What if she has a partner?” But Giorno held his hand up to tell him to essentially shut the fuck up.

“V-Vivi.” The woman said, basically shaking as she stared at Narancia, who looked like he was going to rip her head off. “My name is Vivi.”

“Where are you from?”

“Hong Kong.” Trish shared a look with Giorno.

“And how'd you end up… meeting Fayte?”

“So that's her name…” Bucciarati raised an eyebrow, forcing her to elaborate. “She didn't tell me her name. We all just ended up there and told us she was keeping an eye on all of you. The one to get rid of any of you can get their life changed by her. She called it the… The Verse.” That place…

“The green place?” Giorno asked, and Vivi nodded.

Bucciarati questioned her again. “How many people were there?”

Vivi shook her head. “I don't know!” Okuyasu took a step towards her. “Honest! I've already snitched enough, there's no reason to hide anything else!” She looked down, and Trish saw tears hit the floor. “I've already lost my chance.”

That must have been what Bucciarati was looking for: a way in. “What did she tell you that you were going to get in exchange for our lives?”

“She said that whoever gets rid of you can get their luck changed, their outcome in life, anything. She proved it too!” Vivi looked back up at them. “She told us all about you, how she can control people’s fates. She could fix everything, even if you're sick. Even if… you're losing your life.”

Trish had to resist rolling her eyes. What a good way to try and gain sympathy points. Not even Bucciarati would fall for-

“You're ill?”

“Not me. My sister. I don't care about the path in my life, but she deserves a real chance.”

“She's a good fake.” Fugo said in Italian, his eyes on her.

“She knows exactly what to say.” Trish responded.

“You said Hong Kong?” Avdol stepped closer. “We're going there next, as you heard when we were speaking to Polnareff. Staying in Kyoto - or Japan as a whole - is not a viable option if it was this easy to be found so quickly.”

“If we know where we're going and what we're doing,” Jotaro folded his arms, “what are we doing with her?”

“I say wipe her off the map.” Narancia said, Aerosmith rising up behind him, ready to blow her face off. Trish was inclined to agree, getting rid of their enemies- especially when everyone was itching to kill them- sounds perfect.

“She'll be coming with us.” Giorno said. “Do your parents know that you're doing things like this?”

Vivi showed the first emotion other than sheer fear since she was discovered: light annoyance. “I'm twenty-two. And they're long gone.”

“Then leaving your sister alone was plenty idiotic.”

“I was coming home with a cure.”

“Fayte can't change your lives, and even if she could, she won't-” That's too much. 

Trish grabbed her brother by the wrist and flashed a fake smile. “Give us a sec.” She dragged Giorno into Avdol’s office, but kept the door open a crack (you can never be too careful). She whispered harshly. “Giorno, we need to bust her head open, not send her off on her way with all of our information!”

“And we will, for most if not every other person. But she's valuable.” Giorno looked at the door. “If she was lying, Bucciarati would know and we wouldn't be entertaining her.”

Trish sighed. “You believe her?”

“I'm inclined to. I know the rest of you probably don't, considering that everyone we meet always has some sort of story to spare their lives, but she hasn't groveled or begged or anything of the sort.”

“But if she did have a sister, wouldn't she do anything to go back to her? She just said they don't have parents.”

“And if she is telling the truth, then wouldn't you be willing to try your hand at killing a dozen people?” Trish furrowed her eyebrows, but Giorno continued on. “I'm not saying that you all are wrong, or ignoring that you don’t trust her. I don’t either, not even a little bit."

"Then…?"

"Until she isn’t useful or is more of a hassle alive, she doesn’t have to die. Shoot first, ask questions later won’t always work.”

“But what if all of this is a trap and boom, we’re fucked? And we’ll be on a plane.”

“Well,” Giorno put a hand on her shoulder, “you are the only person I know who has won a fight on a plane.” There was the hint of a smile that Giorno rarely if ever showed during missions. He always looks so grown up. "I'm not saying you have to like her, I don't like her. You don't need to be nice to her and I don't expect you to, but we need every lead we can get right now." Trish sighed and nodded, adjusting his suit jacket even though it looked fine.

“I trust you, Gio.”

“I hope you always do.”

Trish walked out of the room first, to which Abbacchio deadpanned. “Has the council decided?”

“She’s coming,” Trish said, “and if anyone has a problem, keep it to yourself. We’ll finish questioning her, and then get on the first plane to Hong Kong.” She could tell from her other brother’s eyes how much they did not want a Stand User that tried to wipe all of them out with evil games near them in a small compact space which is perfect for killing all of them. Fair enough.

“Explain to us,” Avdol spoke to their enemy, “your Mirror Mirror. Your ability to create puzzles that are tailored to us is something unprecedented.”

“I do not pick them.” Vivi shook her head and summoned the Stand, putting everyone on guard. “I can’t hurt you with it. All of your Stands outclass mine in combat and speed. Well, except for those ones.” She gestured towards the Pistols who had since returned, eating candy that Trish is sure won’t be kind to Mista’s stomach in a few hours. “But I cannot do anything to hurt you all. My rooms would kill me, too. As for the puzzles, it’s like I said: Mirror Mirror finds out everything within its rooms. It can see everything about whoever is in them: their hopes, dreams, fears. The rooms create themselves for the people within them. It knows what even I don’t, at least until the game ends and it gets reset.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to believe me, but it is the truth. And if you do mean it when you say you are going to Hong Kong, I am in your debt for letting me live.”

“Repay us, then.” Kakyoin responded to her. “Tell us everything that you know about Fayte.”

Vivi took a breath, then nodded. “She first came to me about three years ago, at least I thought she did. I believed it to be a dream, but when she returned again recently and I saw all the others, I knew she was the one who took us.”

Three years ago. 2001. Trish moved ever so slightly closer to Giorno. She wanted to tell him that this wasn’t his fault, but she knows that it doesn’t work that way.

Vivi carried on. “The first time, she said that I was called to do something greater than me. I didn't remember a lot of it when I woke up, even less so three years later. What I do know is she told me to be prepared, that one day I would be needed. And when I woke up?” Vivi looked at her Stand. “It was here. As for the second time, that was the group summoning, the promise that you said wasn’t true.”

“It isn’t,” Jotaro confirmed, “we heard it from her mouth herself. She can only fuck with our lives, not people who didn't have anything to do with us.”

“And even if she could,” Giorno added, “she won’t. Fayte wants Bucciarati dead to revert the universe back onto its “course” that she laid out for us. This version of 2004 won’t exist, you won’t gain your Stand because she will never come visit you. There is no cure for your sister, not one that Fayte will give you at least. Humanity is not what she loves, but what stories she gets to play out.” Trish watched Vivi’s eyes seem to go from disbelief, to an attempt to believe, then to a quiet and accepting anger.

“Then… I was a pawn? If you had killed me…”

“She wouldn’t have cared. There are always more people to lie to.”

Strangely, Trish began to feel for Vivi, if only slightly. To be a pawn in a game that she was supposed to lose; the feeling is sickening. She looked over at Avdol. “How soon till we go to Hong Kong?”

“Depends on the location.” He spoke to Vivi next. “Where do you stay?”

“Lam Tim. It’s in New Kowloon.”

Kakyoin recognized that name. “Isn’t that…?”

Avdol nodded. “The Speedwagon Foundation branch is located in New Kowloon.”

“And probably more enemies. Oi, you,” Abbacchio had his attention on Vivi,  “how’d you find us?”

“She told us that some of you were in Japan, then told us about Avdol. I looked him up and found out that you worked here.” Vivi shook her head. “I wasn’t close to her the way some of the others are. I’m sure they have figured out that you all will be on the move.”

“You speak to any of them?”

“Just one. He was… strange.” Vivi had a look on her face. “I mean, all Users are strange, but this was strange strange. He spoke about her like… like she was a god or something. Crazy guy. If he ever finds out that I told you all of this, he won’t hesitate to kill me.” She let out a wry chuckle, “But I’m pretty sure any one of them will take me out when they realize that I failed.”

“We can work something out for you and your sister’s safety if you’re telling the truth.” Kakyoin responded.

Vivi smiled and nodded in thanks. Her voice was shaky and grateful. “Thank you, thank you!”

"Don't thank me, you tried to kill me."

“We can get on a flight as early as tomorrow morning.” Avdol added. “I’ll call Polnareff back and let him know how soon we’ll be there. Everyone else, get some rest; tomorrow's probably going to be a long day.”

“Hey hey, wait a sec,” Narancia folded his arms, “who’s gonna watch the hostage?”

“You can.” Bucciarati said, zipping Vivi’s legs back to the rest of her body as Narancia’s eyes bulged.

“What?!”

“You want to blow her head off, so you’ll be the fastest to get rid of her if she does something suspicious.” In response, Narancia grumbled as he nudged Vivi with her foot to have her stand up.

Trish sighed as everyone seemed to relax ever so slightly with the plan set in place. She looked over at Giorno as they began to leave the offices. “What happened to this fun trip being a week at most?”

Giorno’s response was sarcastic. “That was before the fun trip involved timelines and evil people.”

“As long as we finish this before the summer’s out.” Trish looked at her nails. “Me ‘n Nara need to graduate, we were already held back once.”

“Mine took all of summer, too.” Josuke said. “And there was a cat that blew air bullets.”

“Ours took fifty days.” Kakyoin added onto the conversation, “and in that one there was a parasitic scorpion and an evil car. I missed… so much school.”

Trish looked over at him. “Did you get held back?”

The doctor looked appalled at the mere thought. “What? No. My parents would’ve killed me. I caught up on all of my work in the hospital.” Well, Trish supposes that they had very different reactions to the crazy events they got wrapped up in.

“I’ll get us home,” Giorno confirmed as they got on the elevator, “and you can go on vacation if we have time.”

“We should all go on vacation. You included.”

He looked over at her, and gave another barely there smile, “I’ll think about it.”

Trish tried to keep her own smile from breaking out completely on her face; when Giorno says he’ll think about it, he means yes.