Disclaimer: I don't own any bit of Jojo Bizarre Adventure. If I did Narancia would still be alive and kicking. So would Ceasar...and Kakyoin...
Warning: Grammar mistakes as English is not my first language, but I will try to catch all the errors I can. Spoilers abound for people who hadn't seen the latest episodes and frankly bad language from Mista. This will be AU. I will be using the vocabulary that was subtitled on the Crunchyroll version, so 'Golden Experience' will be 'Golden Wind' and 'Aerosmith' will be 'Lil' Bomber'. That's just my preference.
Summary: By the time Giorno returned to the Coliseum, Narancia's body had disappeared. As it turns out, the Boss wasn't a duo, but a triple. With Doppio dead and Diavolo trapped for eternity, the last hidden personality of the Boss has conveniently found an empty vessel to reside in. The journey to retrieve Narancia's body begins.
Requiem Blues
Chapter 1
Mista's cry of rage and Trish's frantic voice rang in Giorno's ears. It goes along almost perfectly with the loud beat of his heart as he stared blankly at the empty space where Narancia's body should have been. Mista and Trish are on both knees. Their frenzied hands broke through the vines of flowers, but no matter how much they pulled and tugged, the reality was the same.
Narancia's body was gone.
"What kind of sick fuck takes a body?!" Mista screamed, his hands pulling at his cap in rage.
"Maybe someone called the police," Trish tried to reason as she tried to hold back her tears. "Or took him to the hospital."
The sound of distant sirens coming closer caught Giorno's attention.
"We have to go," he said.
Mista looked like he wanted to argue, but the moment his eyes landed on Bucciarati's unmoving body lying on Giorno's back, he sagged. Without another word, he goes to take Bucciarati while Trish goes to hold Polnareff who is watching everything silently and with compassion (as much compassion as it was possible being in the body of a turtle).
They head out of the coliseum, weary, bitter, and trudging on their feet.
In the chaos of everyone waking up back in their rightful body, they took a chance and stole a car. Mista remembered that Bucciarati has a safe-house nearby, so they rode in silence with Giorno at the wheel, Trish weeping in the passenger side, and with a snarling Mista in the back.
Giorno kept his eyes on the side view and rear view mirrors.
It was nightfall by the time they arrived. They stumbled more then they walk from the car to the dark two story house. At the entrance, Giorno's hand pressed against the door frame and he checked the house carefully. Other than the dust mites and the mouse that live in the walls of the pantry, there was no other lifeforms. He moved aside so that Trish and Mista can enter.
A flick of a switch and the lights cuts on revealing a sterile simple house with little furniture. In the living room Mista leaned down and carefully laid Bucciarati's body on the couch.
"Now what?" Mista asked after he straightened up.
Almost like an answer, three sets of stomach growled reminding them that none of them had eaten in a day.
They searched the kitchen cabinets.
After a dinner that consist of an old ready-to-boil pasta box spit three ways and some stale crackers, one of the two bedroom was given to Trish who close the door wordlessly. Mista insist on giving the other bedroom to Giorno. He stubbornly took the chair next to couch and Giorno knows that it was a lost cause to argue. He trudged up the stairs with Polnareff.
"I know how it feels," Polnareff remarked. He turned his head from his place on the nightstand to watch Giorno who sat on the bed in the shadows. For the next hour, Polnareff spoke about his past. There was the beloved younger sister that he lost. Friends (Avdol, Kakyoin, Iggy,) that were gone too soon. Even his Stand that he had known since childhood was now gone. Listening, Giorno empathized with the man who lost more in his life than most people.
"Losing people never get easier," Polnareff sounded tired. "but you learn to live with it. Just hang in there."
Giorno laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes.
…
When he dreams, it's of Abbacchio's slack figure resting against that boulder, of Narancia's impale body on the gate spikes, and of Bucciarati's limp form lying on the floor of the Coliseum.
...
When he woke up, it was to the sun shining in through the windows, the birds chirping, and of Polnareff snoring.
Mista and Trish were already at the breakfast table when he arrived with a now awake Polnareff. A bag of take-out sat on the counter. Trish hands him a paper plate of rolls with jam and butter. There was a coffee cup that she pushed towards to him when she saw him notice it. Mista must have left the safe-house earlier and had gone shopping. There was even a plate of turtle food in a paper bowl. Polnareff frowned at his meal, but he ate it without complaint.
"What do we do now?" Trish asked. She looked pale and gaunt and her eyes kept straying back to the couch where Bucciarati's body laid. A blanket laid over Bucciarati's body and Giorno wondered briefly which of them had laid the covers on Bucciartati as if it mattered whether or not he was warm enough.
The coffee tasted like ash in this throat.
"You and Mista head back to Naples." Giorno finally spoke. "I'll stay here and figure out where Narancia's body was taken."
Giorno won't leave without Narancia. That was a promise he made.
"I'm staying," Mista crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. He looked over at Giorno with a frown. "You go with Trish. I'll find Narancia."
"I want to stay," Trish protested. "I want to find Narancia."
"You need to stay with Mista," Giorno shook his head. "We don't know if the Boss has any other loyal followers who might target you. You can't be alone."
"Then you can be on babysitting duty," Mista insisted to Giorno. "I'll stay and find Narancia."
"I don't need a babysitter," Trish glared.
Somehow, it became a three-way battle of will.
There was yelling (Mista), crying and objections (Trish), and furniture breaking (Mista again), but in the end Giorno got them to see reason. He helped them pack the next day and watched as the car drove off leaving him and Polnareff behind.
For the next few days, Giorno made calls to police, to the morgue, to funeral homes, to wherever an unclaimed body could ended up, but there was nothing. No body that matched Narancia's description was found. The less information he had, the more he grew wary.
"Something smells rotten," Polnareff agreed. "Worst than the toilets in East Asia." Polnareff visibly shuddered at a memory.
A phone call came from Mista one night. "Gonna send you a video. Take a look."
There, on the grainy video from a street camera, was Narancia walking down the street without a care in the world. Aware that he was being recorded, Narancia looked up at the camera and toothily smiled.
"It can't be!" Polnareff looked ready to have a stroke.
With a salute, Narancia causally strolled away, but not before Crimson Emperor appears behind him to give the middle finger to the camera.
Giorno's fingers clenched into a fist. He could feel the blood well up from where his nails dug into his palm as he felt the rage simmer beneath his skin.
"Where?" he asked Mista.
"Three days ago in Catania. We need to find someplace safe for Trish." Mista sounded agitated and pissed. "He's not wasting any time. There's a bounty out on all of our heads." There was the sound of rustling cloth, like curtains being pushed slightly aside. "We're in one of Abbacchio's secret apartments, but I don't know how much longer we can stay here."
"I know of people who can help," Polnareff said. He rattled off a telephone number to Mista. "Ask for Jotaro Kujo. Tell him I gave you that number. He'll help."
"Who is that?" Mista's voice sounded suspicious.
"A friend. Maybe if we find the time I'll tell you the story, but for now the important thing is to get out of the way." There was a grimness in his eyes. "The Boss is going to be coming after us. We need to be prepared."
"Fuck! How many more times do we have to kill him?!" Mista groused. "There should be a limit!"
"We'll kill him as many time as it takes, for as long as it takes," Giorno said calmly even though inside he felt a burning, almost suffocating fury. "We're taking Narancia's body back."
Mista said a few more choice words before hanging up.
"I'm going to give you another number," Polnareff said. "We need to get out of here ourselves."
Giorno, trusting Polnareff, dialed.
In fifteen minutes, a helicopter that has 'Speedwagon' emblazon on the sides touched down in the driveway. The pilots who jumped out of the craft wore matching jumpsuits and hats.
"Mr. Giorno Giovanna?' One of them asked.
Giorno nodded warily.
The pilots saluted him respectfully and opened the door to the back of the helicopter.
"They're not stand-users, but they are aware of their existence," Polnareff explained to Giorno as they lifted off. They cut smoothly through the air while Polnareff leaned his turtle head to one side and yelled over the motor. "Mike! How's the wife?"
"Doing well. We'll have our third child sometime this week," the co-pilot answered. He turned to look back and grin. "If Kujo-san was here, I'll bet you he will probably say that your body finally matches your brain, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Polnareff grumbled. "Congrats on the kid, though."
"Thanks."
Polnareff and the pilot were the only ones who spoke until twenty minutes later when the other Pilot turned his head around. "We're coming up on the landing spot."
They landed on a helipad somewhere in the city.
Once they got off the helicopter, it was followed by a train, a bus, another train, two plane, and then a boat (it was a yacht and with it came painful, but happy memories. The slightly craze dance that Narancia, Mista, and Fugo took part in as they tortured the stowaway made Giorno chuckle).
After close to four days of travel they arrived in a mansion on the outskirt of town only a few miles from where he had been staying in Bucciarati's safe-house.
They had been going around in a circle.
Giorno studied the elegantly decorated room he was shown into before his eyes landed on a sitting figure. At first glance, all he sees is an old elderly bearded man in a leopard printed hat hunched over a cane. It was easy to tell that the man use to be tall and well built, but age had crippled him. There was still a spark of mischievousness lingering behind blue eyes, though. It indicated a man with a sense of humor. The old man lifted a shaky hand to indicate the seat across from him.
"How are you doing old man?" Polnareff asked as Giorno took the seat.
"Oh, is that you Polnareff?" the old man asked. He leaned forward to get a closer look.
Polnareff waves a paw.
The old man merely blinked.
"Joseph Joestar meet Giorno Giovanna," Polnareff introduced.
"Yare Yare," a voice, detached and cold, said from the doorway. Giorno turned to see a large silhouette from the door come in. The shadowy figure moving into the room revealed a well-built tall man wearing a white trench coat and hat. The man stared down at Giorno. Giorno could feel the way the man's intense eyes watched him, daring him to make a move.
Giorno unwaveringly stared back.
"Enough of that Jotaro," the old man tsk. He patted the seat next to him and the now named Jotaro takes the seat with an air of annoyance. The old man turned his eyes back to Giorno. "I understand that you're looking for someone."
Giorno reached into his shirt (he doesn't miss the way Jotaro tensed just the slightest bit) and pulled out a photograph. It was a picture of Bucciarati and the team. Trish had taken it when she was bored one day. It was a photo of Abbacchio looking on as Fugo has Narancia in a choke hold while Mista cheered in the background and Bucciarati held his head in his hands. Even Giorno was in the photo, standing next to Bucciarati, smiling. Giorno pointed to Narancia's image.
"I'm looking for him," he said.
"It's Diavolo's stolen new body," Polnareff added.
"Eh? No points for originally," the old man said. "Stealing bodies has already been done."
"At least he didn't hot glue his head to the kid's body," Polnareff said with a shake of his head.
Aware that they were talking about Dio, Giorno kept his mouth tightly shut.
"Do you know where he could be?" Giorno asked instead.
"Jotaro?" the old man questioned.
"We lost his trail after he left Turin," Jotaro said in a deadpan voice. The brim of his hat fell low, shadowing his eyes. "He's already established himself back as king in his Empire. Our spy said that he's already disappeared into the shadows again, so finding him won't be easy."
"It took over a decade to flush him out the first time," Polnareff dropped his head.
Giorno felt the blood well up inside his mouth from where he bit himself hard.
Everything that happened, the loss they suffered, it all meant nothing, he realized. They were right back where they started from. Only this time, he didn't have Bucciarati, or Narancia, or Abbacchio. All he had was Mista and Trish.
There was still Fugo...
"Will you help me find someone else then?" Giorno asked.
Jotaro looked impassively at Giorno.
The old man seemed resigned at Jotaro's attitude.
"We'll do what we can." The old man promise, "Now who are you looking for?"
...
Giorno met face to face with Fugo in an alley in Paestum.
Fugo hadn't changed at all, but there was something in the way his shoulders were hunched that spoke volumes than any words could. Giorno wondered if Fugo already knew everything from the underground rumors.
"I heard about Abbacchio," Fugo said. His eyes grew shadowed as he shook his head. "How did the rest of the team take it?"
"Hard," Giorno said mildly. The 'We can't just leave him!' cry from Narancia stilled echoed in his head to this day.
Fugo grimaced. "I bet Narancia took it pretty badly. How is he doing by the way?"
So Fugo only heard part of what happened...
"Narancia is dead," Giorno said. He winched inwardly in sympathy when Fugo's head snapped up.
"What?" Fugo said in disbelief. The denial and the shaking of his head came a moment later. "You're messing with me. Okay, I understand. You're all pretty pissed that I didn't join you, but that wasn't a funny joke."
"It's not a joke. Narancia is dead. So is Bucciarati," Giorno said. "Mista, Trish, and I are the only ones left."
Fugo looked him straight in the eyes to gauged if he was telling the truth. When it hits him that Giorno was serious, he staggered backwards. His back hit the wall with a dull thump. He slid down to the dirty ground in bewilderment.
"Narancia?" his entire body began to shake. "Bucciarati too?"
"Yes." Giorno turned his back to give Fugo privacy as the Fugo struggled to control himself.
Fugo's voice seem to choke. "How did they died?"
"In a fight with the Boss. "
The only sounds then came from a frustrated and angry Fugo.
"I should have told him to come with me!" Giorno heard the sound of an angry fist hitting the ground. "He should have came with me! They all should have! "
"Trish would have died, " Giorno remarked.
"Who cares! We don't know her well enough to die for her!"
That made Giorno turned around. "Narancia's last words were a promise to protect her."
In fact Giorno remembered all the last things Narancia said before he died. About going to school. Meeting Fugo again. Protecting Trish. Narancia's optimistic voice and his plans for the future was engraved deeply in Giorno's memory. It was settled there along with Bucciarati's voice and conviction about cleaning up the Mafia to be free of drugs and Abbacchio's last act of heroism in creating the death mask so that the rest of the team stood a chance of surviving a clash with the boss.
For Fugo to disrespect what Narancia accomplished made Giorno frown.
"He's an idiot," Fugo snarled. The anger sailed out of him as fast as it went in. It seemed to be Fugo's default setting for anything relating to Narancia. Quick to anger. Quick to forgive.
"They became friends, " Giorno shared. In fact, Narancia was the closest to Trish. From the updates he got from Mista once a week, Trish was still on edge and depressed. She hasn't spoken about Narancia, but she carried one of Narancia's headband with her tied like a bracelet to her wrist.
Suddenly, for the first time in his life, Giorno started to second guess his plans about having Fugo and Trish's help with tracking down the Boss. They were too emotional when it came to Narancia. In a face to face meeting would they be even able to fight against Narancia's face even knowing that it was the Boss?
"Did he regret it?" Fugo asked hoarsely interrupting Giorno's thoughts.
Giorno took a moment to look up at the sky.
At that moment a shadow flew over head. He took a moment to stare at the bird, whose shadow reminded him painfully of Lil' Bomber, as it disappeared into the clouds.
"No. I don't think he regretted it," Giorno answered truthfully.
A bitter smile crossed Fugo's face. "So what do you want with me? You didn't just track me down to tell me about Narancia." The genius that he was, Fugo was already analyzing Giorno.
Giorno looked him straight in the eyes. "I need your help."
Like he expected, Fugo rejected the offer flat out after hearing Giorno's plan. He looked at Giorno with a disbelieving face. "You're nuts! The Boss killed even Bucciarati! What makes you think we can do any better when he couldn't?!"
"I don't know if we could do any better," Giorno replied. He placed his hands in his pocket nonchalantly. "I know that we have to try."
He has to. For the sacrifices that Abbacchio, Narancia, and Bucciarati gave. He pulled out a single piece of paper that has the number to a burner phone and he gave it to Fugo.
"This will be active for one week," Giorno turned to walk away. "Think about it."
He left Fugo in that dingy alley way.
On the seventh day, the phone rang.
Fugo's voice sound tired and wary.
"Where do you need me?"