And we're on the last part! Rescue is coming for Giorno and then a bunch of care and comfort for our boy.

Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading whumptober this month! I always have such a good time doing it and it makes me happy to hear you all enjoy it too ^_^


Part Two

Day 31: A Light at the End of the Tunnel

(comfort, bedside vigil, 'you can rest now')

Giorno slept restlessly, unable to calm his mind. He could hear too many voices, and too many figures appeared in the shadows of his room swirling together into a giant mass that was too overwhelming with everything else. He finally forced his head under a pillow, but it didn't really matter. He knew none of those things were there anyway, it didn't help if he hid from them.

He was almost glad when the guards came to retrieve him the next morning, because at least he could be sure they were real. What little relief he felt about that was soon replaced with dread when he realized he was being taken to Bianchi's surgery again.

The doctor and Padovesi were already there, and Bianchi was setting up some sort of machine that had a lot of tubes and vials attached to it.

"Put him on the table," Bianchi commanded.

Giorno fought as the guards manhandled him up on the table again, but his body had been so weakened at this point that it did little good and soon he was strapped in again, vulnerable to whatever torments were about to befall him.

Bianchi stepped up to the metal slab and started cutting off Giorno's clothes before turning back to the machine, straightening out tubes.

"What exactly are you planning now?" Giorno asked dully.

"A bit of experiment to make Padovesi more compatible with your power," Bianchi said as he poked around Giorno's arm with a needle to find a vein, then did the same on the other arm. "I thought it would be best to start with a blood transfusion and then we'll work from there."

Giorno stared up at the doctor balefully. "You're going to kill him."

"You can't be sure of that," Padovesi said as he took his shirt off before sitting down in a seat next to the table. "And frankly, I'm not inclined to believe a word you say. You've been nothing but stubborn even under the influence of the drugs. I don't have the time to devote to truly breaking you, so… desperate times."

Giorno watched as Bianchi also hooked Padovesi up to the machine. "I'll have to remove some of your blood as well first"

"Of course, do what you have to."

Bianchi adjusted a few more things before he turned back to Padovesi. "Ready?"

The senator nodded. Bianchi turned the machine on and Giorno gritted his teeth against the downward pull of blood loss as he sickeningly watched his blood being siphoned off into the machine.

He was feeling woozy by the time Bianchi finally stopped the machine and flipped some switches before it started to pump Giorno's blood into Padovesi.

"This is as much as we can safely do for today," Bianchi told the senator. "We need to give your body time to adjust to the new blood and make sure there's no unsavory side-effects."

Padovesi didn't look pleased with this news. "Then how long do we have to wait for the next transfusion?"

"At least twelve hours," Bianchi said.

Padovesi sighed as he stood from the chair and shrugged his shirt back on. "Fine, we'll do another session then. Give him another dose."

"It's probably best to keep him off the drugs for now so it doesn't taint his blood," Bianchi cautioned.

Giorno wished it would make a difference. But his brain was still so muddled with the drugs he didn't even remember what a clear head felt like anymore.

The blood loss dragged him into a restless unconsciousness, until he became aware of Bianchi and Padovesi back in the room. Another transfusion was performed, and Giorno felt even weaker. This time Bianchi gave him something sickeningly sweet afterward which curdled his insides.

He had lost count but thought there were 4 or 5 transfusions in total and Giorno felt so sick and weak at this point, he wasn't sure he could even sit up if he were given the chance.

"I'll be honest, I don't feel much different," Padovesi told Bianchi as the doctor took his vitals, monitoring something on a machine Padovesi was currently hooked up to.

"It's hard to tell, but in my initial tests I did find some anomalies in his blood samples that I hadn't seen before. I can see them very briefly in your blood too now, which is why I think we need to do this while it's still fresh."

"And you're sure this will work?" Padovesi asked.

"I'm not sure of anything," Bianchi cautioned as he headed to the other end of the surgery and pulled out a set of machinery. "But this is the only way I can see it working. Just like Frankenstein's elixir of life, right?"

Giorno felt dread wash over him yet again as he saw Bianchi with the electric shock machine. He stuck several nodes to Giorno's head and chest before attaching wires to them. Padovesi stood over him, watching with obvious anticipation.

"I'll give you one last chance to offer up your power of your own free will," he said.

"I have told you over and over that I cannot physically do that," Giorno told him firmly.

"Then I will rip it out of you," Padovesi shrugged as if it were really that simple.

"I don't think this is going to end the way you want it to," Giorno told him honestly.

"I suppose it's a risk I'll have to take."

Bianchi shoved a hard rubber gag between Giorno's teeth so he didn't bite his tongue. A small kindness, he supoosed.

There was no warning before the machine was turned on. Giorno's back arched off the table as the electrical current surged through him.

"Gold Experience, reveal yourself!" Padovesi commanded.

He really was insane, Giorno thought briefly before Bianchi turned the machine up higher and Giorno gave a strangled cry past his gag, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Gold Experience! Reveal yourself!" Padovesi bellowed.

Giorno shuddered uncontrollably, feeling the darkness closing in around him.

"It's not working, put it up higher!" Padovesi snapped, reaching for the dial on the machine.

"It could kill him!" Bianchi replied.

"I'm willing to risk it," Padovesi snarled and cranked the dial up further before Bianchi could stop him.

The surge of electricity burned through Giorno and he screamed, body rigid, as he could feel himself slipping away, closer and closer to the darkness.

"Gold Experience! Show yourself now!" Padovesi shouted.

Giorno felt like he was being torn apart. Just when he was sure he would lose consciousness, there was the sensation of something being ripped out of him and suddenly the electric pulse stopped, the straps binding him were desiccated plants and the lines attached to Giorno had turned to vines, digging into the machine and causing it to spark, destroyed.

Giorno gasped, the gag gone from his mouth as he stared at the figure hovering above him. Not the original Gold Experience this time, but Requiem. He couldn't help the small bit of terror he felt at seeing his own Stand.

Something clattered to the ground and Giorno knew instantly what it was before Padovesi bent to pick it up with awe in his eyes, hands shaking.

"Don't," Giorno croaked, voice hoarse from screaming. He reached out, hand shaking uncontrollably. "Gold Experience, don't let him."

His Stand simply stared down at Giorno with its uncanny eyes, not speaking.

"This…" Padovesi said as he cradled the broken arrowhead in his hands, eyes wide with awe and possibly terror. "I have been waiting for this."

"Signore, I think—" Bianchi tried, but Padovesi ignored him and grinned.

"At long last. True power. No one will be able to stop me now."

"Don't!" Giorno cried out again, trying to move off the table, but Padovesi had already turned the arrow toward himself and stabbed it directly into his chest.

Giorno watched in horror as the man's eyes blew wide, blood trickling from his mouth, before a glow started around the arrow. Bianchi looked terrified as he watched, slowly backing away from the other man.

Padovesi laughed, throwing his arms out to the sides, a manic grin on his face. "I can feel it! The power. Oh, it's even more amazing than I imagined!"

His whole body was glowing now and he turned toward Giorno, eyes falling directly on Gold Experience.

"I can see it now, I can see everything!"

Cracks appeared in his flesh. Padovesi frowned, looking down to see that the area around the arrow stuck in his chest was cracking, fissures branching out, leaving burning trails in their path like the trails left by a strike of lightning. Horror suddenly replaced the elation and he reached for the arrow, trying to pull it out.

"No, this is wrong. It can't…this can't be happening!"

A fissure went up his neck and split his skull with a sickening crack. The last thing Giorno saw was the look of pure terror on Padovesi's face before the man simply exploded into a supernova of blinding light.

Bianchi screamed, and Gold Experience Requiem wrapped its arms around Giorno to deflect the blast. When everything had settled, there was only the sound of the arrow clattering to the floor once again.

Requiem floated down to pick it up and the arrow melded back into the Stand's hand before it shifted back into Giorno's original Gold Experience and faded away.

Giorno was completely alone now.

Bianchi and the guards that had been in the room were covered in briars, that had punched through their bodies, all of them dead, the only sound was their blood dripping onto the floor. Giorno had a feeling that the rest of the staff in the mansion had met the same fate.

Padovesi was nowhere to be seen. He appeared to have been vaporized by a power he couldn't contain.

Giorno crashed back onto the table, every ounce of energy he'd had was completely gone. His eyes slid shut as he wondered whether he would have the strength to even leave here, or if he would simply become another fixture of this horrible mansion.


Bucciarati and the others stared in awe and horror at the mansion that spread out in front of them.

"Holy shit," Abbacchio muttered under his breath.

The whole building was wrapped in thorns like something out of a fairy tale. Bucciarati shivered as he stared at it, then finally got his senses back and turned to Narancia.

"How many signatures do you detect?" he asked.

Narancia searched the radar with Aerosmith and swallowed hard. "One."

That was all Bucciarati needed to know. He nodded to the others. "Abbacchio, call the backup off. I don't think we'll be needing them."

"You're sure?"

Bucciarati nodded and turned back toward the door. "Let's go."

He zipped a large hole in the doors and everyone stepped through.

The mansion was eerily silent. The briars crawled across the floors and walls in here as well and the group followed them, having a feeling they would lead to their target.

It wasn't long before they started to come across bodies wrapped in the briars. Mista bent to check the pulse of one of the men, but shook his head.

"I've never…I've never seen Giorno do anything like this before," Trish commented, hugging herself with a shiver. "I didn't know he could."

Bucciarati didn't reply. He simply followed the briars down into the basement of the mansion where they seemed to have originated.

There was a concentration of bodies here on the stairs and down this particular hall leading to a door that had been smashed open by the briars.

Bucciarati stepped over the thorny vines and came to a sudden stop at the scene that appeared in front of him.

Giorno lay half naked on a metal table in the center of what looked to be a destroyed laboratory. Several more lumps of briar-wrapped bodies sat around the room, obviously the first ones to be taken down when whatever disaster this was had happened.

The others caught up, stopping behind him and Bucciarati pushed himself forward as they gasped.

"Giorno!" Narancia and Trish cried out.

Bucciarati reached him first, bile rising in his throat at the sight that greeted him. Giorno was shuddering uncontrollably, cracked lips parted as he panted for breath, his eyes squeezed shut as a sheen of sweat covered his body.

"God, Giorno," Bucciarati breathed, reaching out to cup his face.

"Is he okay?" Trish asked, tears in her eyes.

Abbacchio stepped forward, already yanking his coat off to wrap around Giorno's shuddering form. Bucciarati reached down and lifted his shoulders gently off the table and pulled Giorno in to cradle him against his chest as he helped Abbacchio fold the coat around him.

Giorno suddenly gasped, startling all of them as he jerked in Bucciarati's arms. His eyes flew open and he flailed, shoving against Bucciarati's chest.

"Giorno, it's all right," Bucciarati said, not restraining him, but keeping a careful hand on his shoulder to keep him upright. "It's us."

"No," Giorno whimpered, burying his face in his hands. "Please stop. I thought it was over…"

"Giorno," Bucciarati said gently, remember how he had been the other night. He bent to take Giorno's face between his hands, smoothing his thumbs over the gaunt cheeks. "Look at me."

Giorno's eyes finally blinked open, welling with unshed tears of mistrust and fear.

"I promise it's really me. Not a hallucination, not a dream. I'm here."

Giorno's hands came up and he shakily touched Bucciarati's where they still sandwiched his face. He then latched onto them and Bucciarati smiled encouragingly.

"Buccia-rati," Giorno whispered.

"Yes, I promise it's me," Bruno said sincerely.

"It's really us, GioGio," Narancia said, stepping forward.

That seemed to do it for Giorno. Whether he believed them or not, he seemed to have reached his limit. His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed against Bucciarati's chest.

Bruno spent a few long seconds just holding him tightly, burying his face in the matted blond hair and allowing himself a sigh of relief that Giorno was finally back with them at last.

But not without the damage done, and they still had yet to find out just how bad it was.

He pulled back reluctantly and tugged Abbacchio's coat further around Giorno, instinctively smoothing his hair away from his face. "Let's get him out of here."

Mista stepped forward, putting his gun away in his waistband. "Here, I got him."

Bucciarati relented and Mista took Giorno up into his arms as Sex Pistols buzzed around him with concerned cries. Narancia and Trish did much the same as Bucciarati turned toward Fugo and Abbacchio who were examining the room.

"I didn't see Padovesi's body anywhere," Bucciarati said quietly, fresh anger welling up in him. "Did you?"

Fugo glanced at the floor and scraped the toe of his shoe across it before saying. "I don't think we will be finding a body."

Bucciarati looked down and realized there was a dark patch burned into the stone floor like some sort of blast zone. The floor was cracked and lifted to allow briars through.

"I don't know what the hell happened here, but I don't think we have to worry about him again," Fugo said sincerely, a slightly haunted look in his eyes.

"Hey, Giorno's really cold, can we get him out of here? It's a long drive back to Napoli," Mista said, sounding as tired as Bucciarati felt. None of them had slept much in the last few weeks.

"I'd say we're done here and leave the place as is," Bucciarati said decisively.

Abbacchio picked up a small case sitting on one of the tables and tossed it to Bucciarati after looking inside. "Here. We might need this. It looks like the bastard was dosing Giorno with something so it might be a good idea to figure out what it was."

Bucciarati nodded and tucked the case into a pocket.

They all left the mansion without looking back. Mista climbed into the back of the car with Narancia, Giorno huddled between them, piled with blankets that they had kept in the van. Trish and Fugo handed back water and the first aid kit and Bucciarati got behind the wheel as Abbacchio pulled out the map.

It was indeed a long drive home and Bucciarati knew that it was only the beginning of Giorno's journey to recovery.


Giorno drifted in and out of consciousness or dreams—he honestly wasn't sure which. He could hear familiar voices, talking quietly around him, but he had been hearing those for a long time. He had the memory of seeing Bucciarati, of the man holding him, but, again, there was no telling if it had been real, or if it had been Padovesi playing another trick on him.

But, no, he had watched the man explode. The arrow had killed him. That at least he was sure of.

He was warm, he knew that. Almost too warm. Giorno tried to wriggle out of the constraining weight around him but had no strength to do so.

"Hey, is he awake? Giorno?"

Giorno blinked his eyes open finally to mostly darkness, illuminated every once in a while by flashing lights. The sensation of moving made him dizzy and sick and he was forced to close his eyes again.

A hand pressed to his forehead. "He's feeling a little warmer now," said another voice before a hand squeezed his shoulder. "Hey, kiddo, you awake?"

Giorno let out a small groan, forcing his eyes open again and looking up to see Mista and Narancia leaning over him. He seemed to be lying across their laps—in the back of a car? That would explain the motion.

Did that mean he was out of there? He had never hallucinated places. Just people.

"Where?" he murmured, mouth dry.

"About two more hours until we get to Napoli," Mista told him with a smile. "How are you feeling, man?"

Giorno closed his eyes again, shaking his head. The nausea was welling up, as well as just a general uneasy restlessness in his body that was extremely uncomfortable. Narancia patted his knee and while Giorno's body rejected the contact, it felt solid and it stayed kind, no sudden violence when he failed somehow to perform how he wass expected to. No tricks here, he told himself.

"It's okay, we'll get you more comfortable once we get back home," Narancia told him.

Home.

Giorno's breath hitched and he felt tears leak out of his eyes. He turned to hide his face in Mista's jacket and the older boy massaged his scalp with gentle fingers.

"It's gonna be all right, GioGio," he said kindly.

Giorno wasn't so sure. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. He felt so overwhelmed by everything he just wanted to bury himself in the dirt and stay there like a seed until he could bloom again in the spring when everything was bright and he could look at the sun again.


Everyone was exhausted by the time they got back, but they couldn't exactly rest yet.

Bucciarati quickly directed everyone with tasks. "Trish, Narancia, I want you to get fresh sheets on Giorno's bed. Fugo, please inform the capos about the development with Padovesi and Giorno. Mista, I don't know what Giorno will be able to eat but probably a soup would be best, if you can get something started."

"I'll see what we have to work with," Mista promised and hurried off to the kitchen.

"Leone, if you could help me get him cleaned up."

Abbacchio nodded, already carrying the mostly unresponsive Giorno into the house. Bruno quickly started a bath and went to grab their medical supplies before he got back to find Abbacchio trying to coax Giorno into some sort of conscious state but he seemed extremely lethargic.

Abbacchio peeled back one eyelid, inspecting the eye beneath closely, before he pressed his fingers to Giorno's pulse-point. "He's definitely on something—or rather, he's coming off of something. Withdrawal symptoms are already starting to set in, I would imagine that's why he's sweating so much."

Bruno nodded tiredly. "I was sure Padovesi had drugged him. I think it's something hallucinogenic. I'll have the sample tested first thing in the morning." He checked his watch. "Which is about two hours away now."

He checked the temperature of the water and when the tub was half full he crouched in front of Giorno, cupping his cheek carefully. "Giorno, I need you to wake up just for a couple minutes, okay?"

Giorno's eyes blinked open, pupils blown. He looked like he was having a hard time concentrating on Bruno.

"You know where you are?" Bruno asked him.

Giorno's eyes flicked around. "Home?"

Bruno's heart clenched at his weak voice, but he nodded. "Yes. We're home now. We'll get you into bed soon, but we're going to get you cleaned up first, okay? Is it okay if we get you into the bath now?"

Giorno glanced over at the tub and nodded slowly, swaying a little on the bench.

Bruno straightened. "Okay, I'm just going to get your dirty clothes off first."

He summoned Sticky Fingers to make easy work of it but when he reached down to help pull the filthy fabric away, Giorno suddenly struggled away from him.

"Don't!" he snapped, teeth bared. "Don't touch me!"

Bucciarati suddenly found his wrists restrained with thorny vines, tightening enough to draw blood. Abbacchio stepped forward, but Bruno quickly shook his head.

"Giorno, it's just me. I promise I'm not going to hurt you, just clean you up so you can be comfortable. I'm just going to tend your injuries."

Giorno watched him with wide eyes, panting for breath, before he blinked hard, and then blinked again. He reached out to touched Bruno's arm with a shaking hand, then seemed to sag. The vines disappeared and Bruno waited.

"Sorry," Giorno said. "Can't trust anything."

"I understand," Bruno said quietly. "But no matter what you see, I promise you that you are safe here."

Giorno nodded jerkily and made as if he were about to stand up.

Bruno took that as acceptance. "Bath time now?" he asked with a small smile. Giorno nodded again.

Bruno reached over to grab Abbacchio's arm and pull him to where Giorno could see him. "Abbacchio is here too so don't be frightened if you see him."

Abbacchio nodded and reached out a hand to Giorno, carefully taking his elbow.

Giorno allowed them to help him into the bath and sank down with a whimper.

Bucciarati grabbed a cloth and started to carefully clean Giorno, starting with his face.

As the collection of injuries, mostly healed, began to become apparent, Bruno felt the ball of anger in his chest grow further.

It wasn't just the copious needle marks in his neck and arms; there were fading bruises, and several scars from obviously deliberate cuts carved into his chest and stomach with surgical precision. It also looked like he had been shot in the leg at some point, the puckered scar pink against Giorno's pale skin.

Abbacchio sat at the head of the tub and lathered Giorno's hair in shampoo while Bucciarati finished with the rest of him.

"He looks anemic," Abbacchio said. "It looked like that bastard took a good bit of blood out of him recently."

Bucciarati shook his head, jaw tight. He was sure Padovesi had met a horrible end, but frankly, he wished he could have done it with his own hands.

"Help me rinse his hair?" Abbacchio asked.

Giorno had been mostly catatonic, but as soon as Bucciarati helped tip him back to wash his hair out, he flailed, panicking as his eyes blew wide.

"Giorno, it's okay," Bruno tried to reassure him, attempting to keep him above the water as carefully as possible. "It's just us."

Giorno latched onto Bucciarati's hands, seeming to ground himself, shaking.

Abbacchio wiped water and soap off his face. "Sorry, kid."

Giorno continued to shudder, but seemed to relax after another few seconds. "Okay," he said. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Bucciarati said gently. "I'm just going to tip your head back so Abbacchio can rinse your hair, alright?"

Giorno nodded, eyes sliding shut again as Bruno held him above the water while Abbacchio carefully washed the shampoo out, trying not to pull Giorno's hair too much.

When they were finally done, Bucciarati drained the tub and patted Giorno dry while Abbacchio went to find clean pajamas. Bucciarati disinfected any abrasions that weren't entirely healed and taped bandages over them before he and Abbacchio helped him into the clothes.

"Time to get you into bed," Bucciarati said as he picked Giorno up. He was worryingly light, bones pressing through skin.

"I'll go see how the soup is coming and grab him some water," Abbacchio said.

Bruno nodded and carried Giorno across the hall to his room. Narancia and Trish were just piling extra blankets onto the end of the bed and they hurriedly pulled down the covers when Bruno brought him over.

"How is he doing?" Trish asked worriedly, eyes trained on Giorno's pale face.

"Let's let him rest for now," Bucciarati said quietly as he lowered Giorno carefully into the bed and Trish helped pull the covers around him. "Padovesi had kept him on some sort of drugs for possibly the whole duration of him being there so the withdrawal period is probably going to be pretty rough."

"He'll be okay though, right?" Narancia asked.

Bruno sighed. "Once the drugs are out of his system, he'll be a lot more lucid. Until then, though, it's possible he'll hallucinate, so don't be surprised if he seems to be seeing things, or reacting to things that aren't there. Just…make sure he knows that he's home and safe."

The two nodded and looked up as Abbacchio came in with some water bottles. "I can run that drug over to our usual guy if you want," he said.

Bucciarati nodded gratefully. "Good. Can you pick up some drinks with electrolytes on the way back? I'm not sure how much Giorno will be able to keep down but I want to make sure he doesn't get any more dehydrated than he already is."

Abbacchio nodded. "Sure."

Bucciarati pulled the desk chair over to the side of the bed, taking a seat. "We'll all take turns at keeping an eye on him. I don't think leaving him alone right now is a good thing. Why don't you two go get a couple hours of sleep while he's still mostly comfortable?"

Trish and Narancia nodded reluctantly and left.

Bruno turned to Giorno, reaching out to press the back of his hand to the teen's forehead to check his temperature. He wasn't too warm, but his skin was clammy, a sheen of sweat already appearing. He frowned and started to push Giorno's hair away from his face.

He knew they were in for a couple of very long days.


The restless, uncomfortable feeling Giorno had been experiencing underneath his skin was only growing worse. He tossed and turned before he simply couldn't stand it anymore and had to open his eyes, blinking at the dimly lit, yet thankfully familiar, surroundings.

"Well, it's good to see your eyes open. Do you think you can drink something?"

Giorno glanced over to see Bucciarati sitting beside the bed—his bed, he realized, seeing the low glow of the UV lamps above his dresser that was covered in frog tanks and small plants he had been starting inside for the winter.

The older man offered him an encouraging smile and Giorno was extremely thirsty. Couldn't actually remember when he had last had the chance to drink anything.

He nodded with a small sound, unable to find the strength to speak yet, throat raw.

Bucciarati leaned closer and slipped an arm under Giorno's shoulders, raising him slightly before pressing a cup to his lips. Giorno sipped eagerly.

He'd expected water but the liquid was slightly sweet, causing him to pull back instantly, alarm bells going off as he remembered the drug-coated glass.

"What's wrong?" Bucciarati asked gently.

"What is that?" Giorno croaked, trying to struggle away.

Bucciarati dutifully reached over to the side table and picked up a half empty bottle of red sport's drink. "It's just some Gatorade. I thought the electrolytes would be good since you're dehydrated."

Giorno relaxed slightly, reaching up to run a shaking finger around the rim of the cup but it wasn't sticky. "Okay," he said.

Bucciarati gave a slightly pained look and leaned back in to help Giorno drink. Once he started he realized how thirsty he was, choking slightly as he gulped too eagerly.

"Careful," Bucciarati cautioned and pulled the cup away. "Let's just do a little at a time, okay?" He set the cup aside and reached over to adjust Giorno's pillows to prop him up a little more. "How are you feeling?"

Giorno let his eyes close again, feeling too overwhelmed when he kept them open for longer periods of time. "Nothing feels…good," he finally admitted, realizing his leg was wiggling under the blankets. "It feels like…my skin is crawling, but it's inside."

Bucciarati nodded, brow furrowed. "I'm afraid that will probably get worse for a little while. The drugs he had you on are currently working their way out of your system."

"Head feels better now," Giorno said, realizing he at least didn't have the all-encompassing fuzziness that had accompanied the drug.

"That's good," Bucciarati said. "Unfortunately, that means that the withdrawal symptoms will probably be hitting you pretty hard soon since your body will be expecting another dose. I have no idea what it's going to be like, but no matter what we'll be here to get you through it."

Giorno groaned, turning his head to press his face into the cool part of his pillow. "Want this to be over," he murmured, pathetic, even to his own ears.

"I know," Bucciarati said sincerely, reaching out to turn down one of the heavier blankets for which Giorno was grateful. He shifted onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position.

There was a soft knock on the door and Giorno cracked his eyes open to see Mista poking his head in. "Hey, how's he doing?"

"He's awake right now," Bucciarati said.

Mista came in and offered Giorno a smile. "Hey, kiddo, good to see you awake."

Giorno offered a half-hearted smile, hating the way his body ached even when he didn't move.

"Do you think you'd like to try to eat something, Giorno?" Bucciarati asked.

Giorno didn't feel very hungry, but he knew his stomach had been empty for at least two days so he nodded. Maybe it would make him feel better.

"I'll go grab something, be right back," Mista told him and left the room.

Bucciarati stood. "Want me to help you sit up?" he asked.

Giorno nodded again and Bucciarati helped get him upright, stacking the pillows behind him.

By the time he was settled, Mista was back with a mug and spoon. "I made some nice beef soup for you. Thought it would help you get your strength back."

The second the smell hit Giorno however, he gagged, instantly transported back to the sensation of hard stone under his knees, eating cold stew off the floor.

"No, I don't want it," he croaked, wetness pricking his eyes as he clapped a hand over his face. "Please don't make me eat that."

Mista looked slightly surprised. "I thought you liked beef soup? Do you feel sick?"

Giorno tried to cover his nose to stop smelling it. "I can't eat it, I'm sorry."

"Let's try something else, Mista," Bucciarati said hurriedly, stepping in. "Maybe some porridge will be easier on his stomach anyway."

"I can do that," Mista said quickly and hurried out of the room.

Giorno shook, fighting off the memories of drugged food, and poison, and humiliation, coupled with pain and abuse.

Bucciarati sat on the side of the bed and held out his hand for Giorno to take at his discretion. Giorno was grateful for it, and finally latched onto the strong, tanned fingers, glad to find they were indeed solid.

"Is that what they fed you there?" Bucciarati asked gently.

Giorno gave a jerky nod, clenching his free hand in the sheets as Bucciarati's thumb soothed across his knuckles. "He m-made me tell him what he wanted to know be-before he would let me eat."

"Well, I promise I won't ever make you eat beef soup again if you don't want to," Bucciarati said firmly, carefully reaching up to brush hair behind his ear.

Giorno took a shuddering breath, startled when the door opened again.

Mista came in with a bowl of porridge and a pained expression. "Here, GioGio, hopefully this is a little better. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

Giorno shook his head. "S'okay. You didn't know."

Bucciarati released his hand and reached out to take the bowl. "Since you're shaking so much, do you want me to help you?" he asked gently.

Giorno nodded in defeat, clutching his hands in his lap. He felt slightly embarrassed that Bucciarati was feeding him like a child, but he'd already been through so much humiliation recently at the hands of his enemies he didn't really have the energy to care over much about this.

The porridge smelled pleasantly of butter and cream with a little sugar. Mista sat at the end of his bed and talked to him about random things while Bucciarati helped him eat, and it was almost okay. It almost felt normal.

But Giorno's stomach had other ideas and cramped halfway through another bite of food. As inobtrusive as the porridge was, his stomach did not seem to be happy with it.

He pulled away, clutching his stomach. Dread settled in as he felt the saliva gathering in the back of his mouth as nausea welled up.

Bucciarati seemed to have anticipated this, or at least was ready, because he quickly set the bowl aside and grabbed a bucket just in time for Giorno's food to make a reappearance.

"Easy," he murmured, wrapping an arm around Giorno's chest so he didn't fall head-first off the bed.

Giorno clutched the bucket, gasping for breath before his stomach rebelled again, bringing up nothing but bile.

Mista hurried back into the room with a glass of water and a washcloth. When Giorno finally stopped retching, Mista held the glass out for him. "Here, rinse?"

Giorno sipped the water and rinsed his mouth out before spitting back in the bucket and flopping limply back against the pillows.

"I got this." Mista took the bucket from Bucciarati gingerly, handing him the cloth.

Bucciarati wiped Giorno's face and reached out to rub his back soothingly as Giorno curled around his cramping stomach.

"Maybe that was a little too early for anything solid," he said apologetically. "Maybe we'll try some jello instead next time."

Giorno whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his face into the pillows.

Bucciarati gathered his hair off of his sweaty face and neck, before he began to braid it back. "Why don't you try to sleep again?"

Giorno wasn't sure how well that would go, but he was also exhausted. With Bucciarati's hand rubbing slow and firm circles between his shoulder blades, it did, admittedly, soothe him enough to fall asleep.


His body felt monumentally worse the next time he regained consciousness, floating through the fevered waters. He groaned and rolled onto his back, too aware of the uncomfortable stickiness of his clothes against clammy skin.

His ears picked up the sound of someone shifting in a chair and he pried his eyes open, once again taking in his room before they settled on the tall figure sitting beside his bed with a book in his lap.

"How are you doing, kid?" Abbacchio asked quietly.

Giorno cringed, clawing at his shirt, only barely stopping himself from digging his nails into his skin as well. Every joint ached, and his insides felt like they wanted to crawl out of his body on thousands of spider legs.

"Ev'thing hurts," Giorno groaned in defeat, squirming in the bed. His hands wound and unwound in the blankets.

Abbacchio put the book aside and leaned forward. "Yeah, I know," he said grimly. "Withdrawal isn't fun. I'm sorry you have to go through it. Especially when it wasn't even your fault."

Giorno whimpered, tossing his head as his legs shifted constantly, tangling the blankets. "It's…it feels…"

"Like you want to claw your skin off and your guts are actively trying to escape?" Abbacchio asked wryly. "Not to mention your head is screaming so bad you can barely hear yourself think?"

Giorno moaned but nodded, surprised that Abbacchio had gotten it so accurately.

Abbacchio stood. "Hot or cold?"

"Hot," Giorno whimpered.

Abbacchio yanked everything but the sheet off of him, shoving the blankets to the other side of the bed. Giorno breathed a sigh of relief, if only for a brief second.

Abbacchio grabbed a cloth from a bowl on the side table, squeezing it out before he pressed it to Giorno's forehead.

"It's better if you try to concentrate on something else. We can play cards or checkers if you want," Abbacchio offered.

Giorno sighed, clenching his hands in the sheet to stop them from twitching. "Too hard," he muttered.

"How about I read to you, then? Silence is the real killer. And trust me, it's nice to have a voice to listen to that you actually know is there."

Giorno opened his eyes again, seeing a sincerity in Abbacchio's eyes that the older man rarely showed towards him. He nodded, grateful.

"You can throw your blankets and pillows if it will help you as well, you're not gonna offend me any," Abbacchio told him as he took his seat again. "Just let me know when you want them back."

The suggestion surprised Giorno slightly, but it also sounded really tempting. As Abbacchio picked up the book to read out loud, Giorno tore his blanket off, mangling it into a ball before kicking the rest of the blankets off the bed. The pillows went next, yanked from their cases and thrown against a wall.

Giorno was panting by the time he was done, but exercising those frustrations actually genuinely helped.

Abbacchio paused and looked up at him. "Better?"

Giorno nodded.

Abbacchio smirked slightly and quickly retrieved the pillows, throwing them back on the bed. "Let me know if you need to get up and walk around. You may not feel like you have the energy, but I can always carry you back to bed if you get tired."

"I think I'm okay," Giorno said. "The reading is good."

Abbacchio shrugged and went back to reading.

Giorno fussed around, piling the pillows into a sort of nest before he ended up with his head toward the end of the bed, one pillow under his knees which seemed to help his leg aches a little, another clutched to his chest in a death grip, something he could dig his fingers into when he needed to. He had actually worn himself out enough that he was able to fall asleep again to Abbacchio's deep monotone as he read.

Unfortunately, it was not a blessing that he was able to get into a deep enough sleep to dream.

He was back in Bianchi's surgery. Padovesi stood over him with a knife carving into his chest.

"If you won't give it to me, I'll take your power for myself."

"No," Giorno tried, but he couldn't move, he was stuck fast to the table, and was unable to do anything as Padovesi reached inside his chest and pulled out a glowing ball. Giorno could feel Gold's power leaving him and he tried to scream, but he had no voice, he was nothing, he was hollow. He could only watch in horror as Padovesi brought the glowing ball to his own chest, consuming the light before he began to glow, eyes pure gold…

"Giorno!"

Giorno woke with a scream as someone grabbed his shoulder. Gold burst out of him and he lashed out, throwing the figure backwards into the wall.

There was a grunt of surprise and he scrambled out of the bed, blind with the need to get out. He raced to the door, yanking it open.

"What's going on?"

Familiar faces stood in front of him and he veered away. It wasn't really Trish and Narancia, he was sure of it.

"Get Bucciarati," someone called. "Abbacchio, what happened?"

Giorno hit a dead end in the hallway and frantically spun, looking for an exit.

He hit a figure that looked like Mista.

"Whoa, easy, Giorno, what's wrong?"

Giorno lashed out and wrenched himself away. "Let me go! You're not really here!" he snapped, staggering away again.

"He's hallucinating, don't let him hurt himself!" someone snapped.

Giorno looked up and saw Padovesi walking down the hallway toward him, hand help out as if he were a scared animal. Giorno snarled and staggered backwards.

"Stay back!" he snapped. "I'll use my Stand again! You can't take my power, I won't let you!"

"Giorno, don't! The stairs!" someone shouted.

Giorno stepped back and his foot slipped. He flailed, falling backwards as more people shouted, sounding farther away.

"Spice Girl!"

Giorno tried to grab onto something, but he knew impact was coming and braced for it.

Except when his back hit the stairs, he didn't break his skull, he simply sunk before springing upward slightly. He wrenched his eyes open to see Trish's Stand hovering over him and above her, several pale, worried faces staring over the bannister.

Wait…if Spice Girl was actually here…

His surroundings began to filter in again and he realized he was lying halfway down the stairs in their own house. He wasn't in Padovesi's mountainside mansion. Nor was the man standing above him. It was just Abbacchio, Mista, and Trish and Narancia huddled at the top of the stairs.

Footsteps hurried toward him from below.

"Giorno!"

Giorno craned his head back to see Bucciarati and Fugo rushing over. Bucciarati hurried up to grab Giorno's arms before Spice Girl returned the stairs to normal again.

"Are you all right?" Bucciarati demanded, cupping Giorno's chin to look him over.

Giorno shook uncontrollably, body wracked with pain. He simply curled into himself, burying his face in his hands as too many senses assaulted him at once.

Bucciarati sighed. "Let's get you back to bed."

Giorno whimpered as the man helped him up. He didn't want to be touched right now, his body was so uncomfortable, but he also didn't have the strength to get up the stairs himself.

His knees gave out when he got to the top and Abbacchio took over, picking him up and carrying him quickly to his room.

"Geez, kid," he muttered as he lowered him back into the bed.

Bucciarati and Trish quickly reassembled his pillows and blankets into some sort of semblance.

"Is he hurt?" Bucciarati asked.

"I don't think so," Abbacchio replied.

"Please don't touch me," Giorno moaned. "Hurts."

"It's all right, no one will touch you right now," Bucciarati assured him, putting pillows around his head and laying the sheet over his curled form. "Can I get you anything?"

"Drink," Giorno murmured.

Bucciarati came around the bed. "I'm just going to lift your head."

Giorno sipped some water before he curled back up on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest.

That was when he remembered Gold attacking someone in his nightmare induced hallucination. He glanced up to see Abbacchio rubbing his head and Bucciarati leaning upward to see it.

"Abba…I—I'm sorry I hurt you," Giorno murmured.

Abbacchio looked down at him in surprise. "Not your fault, kid. You were just reacting; I shouldn't have touched you."

"Thought you were him."

"Just a few bruises, I've had worse."

Giorno shuddered and glanced up at Trish who was standing to one side, looking at a loss for what to do.

"Thanks, Trish," Giorno murmured.

She smiled, a little wanly. "Anytime, Giorno."

Giorno bit back another whimper and dug his nails into his pillow again. "How much longer?"

Bucciarati checked the clock. "It's been about thirty hours now. I'd say probably another eight will be the worst of it."

Giorno groaned and buried his face in the pillows again. "Want it to stop," he admitted.

"I know," Bucciarati said, voice sounding pained. "Is there anything we can get you?"

Giorno shook his head, still not emerging from the pillow, though it was quickly getting uncomfortably warm. "No."

"Try to get some more rest then," Bucciarati urged.

Giorno moaned. He didn't want to have another nightmare that turned into him hallucinating, but he also didn't have the energy to stay awake for much longer either.

He eventually drifted off into another bout of restless sleep.

When he became fully conscious again, he finally felt a little less like he wanted to claw his skin off. His stomach still felt slightly uneasy, but it wasn't full on cramping either. His head still ached, but he could actually keep his eyes open and stay still for more than two seconds.

He glanced over to the side of the bed to see Mista sitting there, reading a magazine. He glanced up and offered a small smile when he noticed Giorno was awake. "Hey. Can I get you something?"

"Some water," Giorno murmured.

"Coming right up." Mista reached over to grab a bottle and helped Giorno drink it.

When he was done, Giorno lay back again, staring up at the ceiling. He suddenly felt horribly confined, to the point that it was almost hard to breathe when he thought about it too much.

"Mista," he croaked.

"Yeah?"

"Can you please take me outside?"

"Um…sure, but why?"

"I need fresh air," Giorno nearly begged. "Please."

Mista nodded and stood up, reaching out. "Alright then, let's go."

Giorno grabbed his hand and Mista levered him upright, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady as he led Giorno out of the room and carefully down the stairs.

It was slow going, and Narancia showed up before they got to the back door.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Taking Giorno out for some fresh air," Mista said with a smile.

"Cool, I'll go with you."

They made it out into the backyard. The garden was slightly overgrown since Giorno was really the only one who took care of it, but it was the afternoon sun peeking through the clouds that had Giorno's attention.

He broke away from Mista and took a few staggering steps out into the middle of the yard before he flopped down on his back in the cool grass, staring up at the open sky. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. How long had it been since he'd breathed fresh air? Since he had seen the sun?

Mista and Narancia flopped down on either side of him.

"Better?" Mista asked.

Giorno nodded, actually managing a small smile. He felt so much better out here. He was content to be like a plant and just soak up the sunlight for a little while.

They were silent for a long moment until Mista inhaled deeply and said, "I'm really sorry about this whole thing, Giorno."

Giorno rolled his head over to face Mista. "Not your fault," he murmured.

"Yeah, except it kind of is."

Giorno frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"Because we left you to go to the meeting alone," Narancia added. "We shouldn't have done that."

"It may not have made a difference," Giorno tried.

"But it may have," Mista pointed out, jaw clenching.

"No," Giorno said firmly, shaking his head. "Padovesi was insane. Insane for the want of power. If he hadn't taken me that day, he would have found another opportunity to do it." He swallowed hard. "Reason didn't come into the equation for him. He was determined to claim my power for himself. And eventually, he died for it."

Mista and Narancia watched him, obvious questions in their eyes that they didn't ask. Giorno was somewhat relieved by that. He realized for the first time that none of them really knew what had even happened. He had been the only one there, after all, the only surviving witness. But he wasn't quite ready to tell that story yet and his friends obviously seemed to realize that.

"You still found me. That's what really matters," Giorno murmured before he closed his eyes again.

Narancia's hand found his and twined their fingers together in a strong grip. "Of course we did, GioGio. And we always will."

Giorno squeezed his hand back, his grip weaker than Narancia's at the moment, but he was grateful for the contact, the physical reminder of where he was and who he was with.

He drifted off into the first peaceful sleep he had gotten in…well, he didn't remember, but it felt amazing.

Giorno was briefly aware of murmured voices sometime later, and being picked up and carried. He could tell it was Mista from the scent of the sweater his nose was pressed into—no tricks, no hallucinations this time.

He could hear the back patio door slide open and shut before he was carried into the living room and settled onto the couch.

"Is it okay to leave him here for now, you think?" Mista asked someone.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. We can keep an eye on him from there." Bucciarati's voice.

Giorno hummed quietly in his half-asleep state as he was vaguely aware of Narancia putting a blanket over him as he curled up on the couch.

The familiar scent of pasta and sauce filtered in as he soaked up the sounds of a busy house, the friendly banter of his family as they prepared dinner.

Giorno was left in no doubt that he was home now.


He slept like a rock straight through the night. He didn't wake up again until the silvery light of dawn filtered in through the French doors just off the living room, promising a clear, winter day.

The last vestiges of aches had left his body, and he felt a new clarity in his head that made him feel a lot more energized.

He glanced around before he spotted Bucciarati asleep in one of the overstuffed chairs, a book dangling from his hand, face buried in his arm.

He woke up as soon as Giorno started stirring though, lifting his head groggily and rubbing his eyes.

"Well, you're looking better," he said with a small smile as his eyes landed on Giorno. "How do you feel?"

Giorno sat up slowly, stretching out his stiff limbs. "Okay."

"That's good," Bucciarati sat up, setting the book aside. "Are you hungry?"

Giorno's stomach gurgled at just the mention of food and he nodded sheepishly. "Starving."

Bucciarati smiled and stood up, stretching his neck out briefly. "I'll make you breakfast then. Whatever you'd like."

Giorno followed him into the kitchen and settled on eggs and toast with a fruit parfait. He ate slowly at Bucciarati's urging, but everything tasted so good and it actually made him feel a lot better instead of worse this time.

Bucciarati sat across from him with coffee and his own breakfast. He waited until Giorno was halfway through before he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Giorno took another bite of fruit while he thought.

"If you're not ready, it's okay."

Giorno swallowed. "No, I think it's…a good idea," he said decisively.

Bucciarati nodded and folded his hands in front of him patiently.

Giorno did his best to explain the events from when he had gone to the meeting to his rescue. Everything was so muddled that some of the things were hard to remember but Bucciarati simply sat patiently, only asking questions every once in a while to clarify something.

"I still don't know what really happened," Giorno admitted when he got to the part where Padovesi had tried to use the arrow on himself. "It was…Requiem hadn't shown itself the whole time, but in that moment Gold Experience appeared as Requiem and dropped the arrow. I wonder…if it knew what the outcome would be to begin with and that's why it allowed Padovesi to use the arrow at all."

Bucciarati nodded slowly. "I'm not sure we'll ever truly know all the secrets of Requiem. Needless to say, I'm glad Padovesi will not be a problem anymore."

Giorno nodded in agreement, reaching for his cup of tea. "That was really you at the party, wasn't it?"

Bucciarati's eyes pinched as he nodded. "It was. We'd been…we couldn't find where Padovesi had taken you. He'd done some deal to make sure that mansion was never listed publicly under his name. We started to think he might have even taken you out of the country since no one had seen him since your disappearance either. And then the invitations came. Everyone who was invited was sent to a lodge where we were then ferried up to the mansion in a blacked-out van. Luckily Fugo set up a tracking device I could wear as a tie pin so we were able to retrace our steps back to the mansion." He shook his head. "When I saw you there, knowing there was no way I could take you out that night…" he trailed off, pressing his knuckles against his mouth. "God, Giorno, I'm so sorry for what you went through."

"It's over now," Giorno sighed tiredly, resting his arms against the table. "None of us could have predicted this, and we don't have to deal with him anymore."

"Still, it makes me wonder how many more are like him. We might have to keep an eye on everyone else outside of Passione who was invited to that party," Bucciarati murmured.

Giorno nodded in agreement then looked up as Mista poked his head into the kitchen, a sleepy look on his face, Fugo and Abbacchio close behind him.

"Hey, someone's looking better," Mista grinned. "Unless it's just my cooking that's the problem."

Giorno smiled as Mista ruffled his hair while he passed to grab a cup of coffee.

"You do look a lot better," Fugo admitted grabbing some bread. "It's a good thing those drugs were mostly modified roofies. I doubt you'll have long-term effects from them."

Giorno felt some relief wash over him at that. He hated to think that he might have more hallucinations off and on in the future.

"Glad to see you up, kid," Abbacchio said. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Giorno said with a small smile.

Narancia and Trish filed in as well, looking just as happy to see Giorno up.

"Thank you, all of you, for everything," Giorno told them sincerely, feeling suddenly very sentimental as he clutched his mug between his hands.

"You know we're always here for you, Giorno," Narancia told him, resting an arm on his shoulders and squeezing gently. "Can Giorno being better call for celebration pancakes?"

Bucciarati huffed a laugh. "I suppose that can be managed."

"Yay!" Narancia crowed, going to dig up the syrup.

Giorno leaned back in his chair, watching the usual morning proceedings happily. It felt so good to be back. He had no doubt that things would go back to normal soon and it made him glad that he knew that no matter what any of them went through, that comfort would always be there waiting for them on the other side.