Author's notes: Hello everyone! This is my first time writing in a while (for fun at least). I had this story in mind for a long time now and am finally getting it out. I find the Brandos to very interesting characters and honestly they are my favorite. I am a totally dork but I love imagining how they would interact as a family. That's as far as spoilers I will give. As of for now this story is rated T, but there will be some coarse language throughout. I will give any warning needed prior to the start of a chapter, and or adjust the rating as need be. Enough of my ramblings, please enjoy!

Giorno woke up with a splitting headache. Groggily he struggled to open his eyes against the bright light before him. His sight was blinded with white spots floating about his vision. The ceiling before him was of a cream color and there seemed to be large window a few steps away on his right, allowing the bright sunset sun to shine in. He took a few minutes to allow himself to come into consciousness. His right arm bumped against the spine of the couch he was lying upon as he mustered the strength to pull himself upright.

"...nurse Tana, room 1008 is requesting-"

Giorno snapped his head to the left, eyes widening in shock. He heard people walking aloof, chatting and discussing outside the room he sat in. Frozen in place, Giorno watched through the crack of the room's door as doctors and nurses passed by, disappearing behind the room's closed blinds. The world fell quiet for brief second before the young blonde picked up on the soft sound of a machine's rhythmic beeps. He failed to have notice he wasn't alone.

Just barely a meter away was a man, lying unconscious, wires and tubes coming from his arm and chest. A bandage circled his head, his blond hair matted against the pillow beneath. The man was tall and muscular, the size of his biceps peeking through the short sleeves of the hospital gown. Yet, despite such awe-striking portions, the man was heavily injured; left leg in a cast from the knee down, arms wrapped in bandages, cuts and bruises all over on whatever exposed skin Giorno could see.

Still stiff from waking, Giorno rolled on to his feet as he slid off the small couch. He felt cold sweat starting to form at his neck and forehead; he didn't remember any of this. Immediately Giorno's stand appeared next to him, hovering behind in a protective stance.

"This has to be the work of an enemy stand," he thought without hesitation.

Cautiously he approached the comatose man, watching how his chest gave rise and lowered with each breath. Giorno watched his stand reached over to grab the sides of the bed, eyes widen in disbelief. Instead of seeing the usual hands of Golden Experience Requiem, he saw the similar hands of his stand prior. The golden metal like hands and green knuckles and lady bugs, gripped onto the bed's sides, trying to sense for anything odd about the man before it's user.

"Golden Experience?" Giorno gasped internally, his confusion building up even more.

Was it possible his stand had reverted to its original form? His stand did not seem to be bothered by the change. Nothing was making sense. The last the Don remembered was lying his head down on his hotel room's bed, tired from the dead ends and frustration being in the state of Florida was bringing him.

His now original stand felt nothing off with the man before him, other than the numerous, but healing injuries. Releasing its grip off the rails, Gold Experience moved aside before fading back to Giorno as the Don approached the bedside. The man's face felt eerily familiar despite the cuts, bruises and stitches unfortunately marking all over the man's cheeks and temple. He stared for a second, totaling that the man was handsome despite all the marks to his face. Shaking himself, Giorno's stomach began to churn with discomfort as he reached for the man's right arm. He spotted the hospital ID band, figuring it was his best option to piece together what was happening. Glancing back at the man, Giorno hoped the man would not stir awake, unsure of his state of consciousness.

Gently, Giorno lifted the arm up ever so slightly to turn the band.

Only the sound of the cardiac monitor pierced the moment. He stood utterly frozen in place; all the air in room not enough to supply the mafia boss's sudden need to breathe. Nausea overcame him, his stomach knotting itself, the room walls enclosing like a pack of wolfs against a lone hare. Millions of thoughts and questions vanished, Giorno swallowing the image before him.

He could feel the steady radial pulse of the man through his fingers as his hand curled around the ID band, leaving much of the information covered except for the name:

Dio Brando

Giorno wanted to scream, but his vocals fell silent. It wasn't until the sound of a distance knock that pulled Giorno out of his trace. He needed to leave; he felt constricted. Everything felt off. A stand could not be this powerful to pull such illusions. His father was dead. Though Dio Brando was a man of unusual powers and inhuman abilities, Dio is dead.

Dead.

Only a few nurses and hospital staff glanced in Giorno's direction as he left the room, pallor in color. He tried not to look alarmed or frantic for fear of attracting attention to himself and to the people around him. The bright white lights of the main area made Giorno eyes hurt and his head spin. The beeps and pages overhead felt far too real to be an illusion. Was it possible he stumbled across another person named the same?

He exited the ICU unit and quickly sped down a hallway, relieved there was no one to see him before locking himself into a single unit men's bathroom. Bracing himself, back against the door, Giorno felt himself shaking. His heart hammered away inside his chest. His head spun wildly out of control, his thoughts drowning as they piled against one another.

For all he knew, he was in danger, perhaps reeled into a trap, a false lead. Someone must have known he was looking for clues about his father. Giorno was very aware there were a few eyes on him, many having hold of the detail the young blonde is the son of a powerful and dangerous man he never met.

Finally looking up after fighting to steady his breathing, Giorno locked eyes with his reflection.

His frontal curls were missing, his long bangs instead were shorter and curled around the frame of his face. The usual braid was undone, his long blonde hair free and uncombed. He wasn't dressed in his normal outfits, but instead sporting a dark blue long-sleeve jacket, a black undershirt and a pair of black skinny jeans and matching blue sneakers.

Grasping the edges of the sink, Giorno started to pat his face from his jawline to his cheeks. He noticed how his jawline was no longer as predominate, his cheeks slightly fuller, his neck smaller in circumference. He watched himself in horror, turning his face slowly side to side, his brain drawing another blank. Staring down at his open palms, glancing another peak at his reflection, Giorno noted his smaller stature, much of his muscle mass gone and his height trimmed down by a few centimeters.

Cold sweats were drenching the back of his neck and forehead, and the room he stood in suddenly felt too small. He grabbed for the door handle, swinging the exit open, desperate for answers but lacking the ability to form anything coherent in thought. The blonde felt out of form; unprepared and lost.

He needed to know where exactly he was. He knew he had to be somewhere in America, having heard the American accents of everyone around him and the English writing on everything around him. Alongside, Giorno placed he was in a large city, having caught glimpse of the buildings outside the hospital room's window.

A pair of young female nurses exited an elevator not far from where Giorno stood.

"Excuse me-" Giorno nearly bit his tongue as he snapped his mouth shut. The women turned around, both with their brows knitted in puzzlement.

"Are you okay?" one asked, genuine sincerity in her voice.

Swallowing his bewilderment, Giorno forced confidence into his new voice.

"I apologize, I'm a little lost," the blonde could feel his nerves being worked to their limit from shock. "Do you ladies know where exactly I am?"

"You're in New York's Saint Mercy's Hospital. This is the 10th floor of the Smith's tower. Did you need help getting somewhere?"

Giorno felt his stomach churn once more. "No, that will be all. Thank you, " he nodded, pressing a polite smile to his blanch face. The women nodded and walked away down a hallway, eventually disappearing. Giorno stood quietly, gathering his thoughts, taking in the possible new reality he was dealing with. Somehow, he was in another state, his appearance changed, and he found a patient with the same name as his father. The mafia boss hated to feel panicked, especially in a situation as bizarre as the one he was currently facing.

It was useless after all.