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Mista didn’t feel right. Normally he only felt oddly about the more obvious things – silent rooms, the number four, you know the drill – but today something just felt off. It wasn’t that the overcast weather was perfect, or that the cool March day was nice and warm (like those days eleven years ago), or anything like that. But, Mista just couldn’t put his finger on it.
He and Giorno, the Boss now twenty-six going on twenty-seven in just a matter of weeks, were looking for someone for the 11th time. It was the same someone, the trash Mob Boss they killed eleven years ago, that they were looking for because, as usual, Giorno was weighing his chances. As much as they both hated to admit it, the moment they realized Diavolo was just dying on and on and on they felt...
Well, not guilt or pity. Just... something. Giorno said something along the lines of sadism, something Mista didn’t catch and never bothered to ask about.
And they found him again, conveniently near the Napoli base.
Sex Pistols were in Mista’s revolver as Gold Experience Requiem pinned Diavolo to the wall of the empty alley, threatening yet another death by suffocation. Though, at this point, Diavolo wasn’t all there; he gazed through Gold Experience Requiem, gazed through Giorno and Mista, and seemed focused on the sky and the grey day above them. He still looked the same as usual, if just a little paler – perhaps the daily Diavolo would be illness today, not gunshot wounds.
“Boss,” Giorno said quietly. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
Diavolo didn’t react, just hazily blinked. There wasn’t a light to his eyes, yet he breathed even with the golden hand of GER loosely around his throat. Giorno straightened up, smiling and practically radiating light. If he was bothered by the lack of reply, well, he never showed it.
“I think he’s still out of it,” Mista murmured. The feeling something was wrong wasn’t shaking off. Giorno nodded.
“Diavolo? Your daughter says ‘hello’.”
Diavolo let out a very low groan. “Remind her I want her dead.”
“Good, you’re still alive.” Mista rolled his eyes and checked his gun, just to make sure everything was still working. It may have been a faded memory now, blocked off by good ones and more current bad ones, but life was still life... and Diavolo still broke one of my favorite guns.
Diavolo looked at Giorno and stretched his lips, but didn’t speak. “And you’re still alive. I’m surprised... except, not really.”
Giorno let out a low laugh and walked forward, getting a little closer to the former man. “Still clinging to your faith in fate?”
Diavolo’s eyes drifted back to the sky for just a brief moment. “...You won’t ever understand.”
“Understand what? That I won and you lost?”
“No.” Diavolo shifted and felt the golden Stand’s grip tighten. He let out a shallow whine, still aware of the pain, but his eyes flickered back to the sky.
Giorno rolled his head to one side and looked back to Mista. “Can I get a round in the Boss’s right calf?”
Mista opened his mouth to say something, but Diavolo cut him off. “Look, what the Hell do you want?” Giorno, to this, held an arm up to stop Mista and Gold Experience Requiem let out a shallow, breathing noise, as if telling Diavolo to back off in a language only the two would know.
“I just want to see if you’re repenting for 33 years of agony, Boss...” Giorno hushed. Diavolo grunted again as the Stand dangerously began to cross the line into strangulation. “Because while I’ve purged most of the world of your traces, just as you wanted, I just need to erase you off the face of the earth.”
Mista remembered this speech. He had said it eleven times. He had supposed once that, long ago, Giorno decided that at some point they would need to put Diavolo out of his misery because Trish wasn’t at all comfortable knowing her father was still alive and still dead, like some twisted Schrödinger’s Cat that no one but Stand Users could be aware of now.
Giorno continued when Diavolo said something back. Once again, a line Mista missed. “Because I know how to save you, if you wish. All I need from you is the deepest apology you can give.”
And that was said six times. Though, as Giorno himself said once, it was just a lie.
Diavolo huffed as he remembered the pattern for himself and his hands finally moved, gripping the fist of the Stand he might or might not be able to see. “Eleven years. Eleven long years,” he repeated. “and you think I haven’t thought about my plans and realized they were folly?”
“I honestly don’t believe you have. You’ll have to keep forgiving me for that.” There was a sharp gust of wind then, one that nearly took Mista’s prized hat with it. Giorno wasn’t bothered by the wind and Diavolo flinched and drew himself in, shivering from the frigidness. “Come now, it can’t be too hard to state the truth.”
Diavolo sighed, and looked back to the sky. After a pause, he mused, “...Remind me, when is your birthday?”
Giorno blinked twice and lost his smile. “I’m, I’m sorry, what?”
“Your birthday. When is it?” Diavolo’s eyes didn’t leave the sky.
Gold Experience was caught off guard and loosened its grip. Giorno looked behind him to Mista, who shrugged in reply. “...April 16th. Why?”
Diavolo blinked twice, eyes shifting in size, and he said with very little care, “Well, happy eleven birthdays, Giovanna. All your friends are dead.”
Mista fired a warning shot and Gold Experience retreated, brick from behind Diavolo flaring out as the former Mob Boss was left to stand on his own. Diavolo coughed and brought a hand up to his mouth and Giorno, just barely, caught that his Stand gave a squeeze before departing. Not as if Diavolo was going anywhere, because he propped himself up against the wall and Mista paid a little more attention to the wind just then. He screamed over the roaring gales, “G-Giorno? Were we supposed to have a storm!?”
Giorno looked behind him as the winds kicked up even more, violently tearing at the blues and oranges Mista and Giorno both wore. Behind him, Giorno swore Diavolo said something but couldn’t quite catch it and-
Suddenly it was night.
And then day.
And then night again. And Giorno began to realize as the weather radically shifted to and fro from the weekly report given that morning. And the fact the sun had just turned into a golden arc up above and-
“Diavolo!” Giorno shouted, even though the winds had already died. “What in the world is going-”
“Happy 27th birthday!” Diavolo suddenly yelled, armed flying up.
“G-Giorno! Grab my hand!” Mista screeched back.
And for a brief, brief moment Giorno could see King Crimson standing next to Diavolo again an
Giorno stood in absolute darkness.
Well, not exactly absolute, for Gold Experience Requiem was emitting a soft glow. It gave some light to the world, but... was there even a world? For miles and miles, nothing really existed outside of stars and far off nebula.
When he realized where he was, and that he was still breathing, Giorno swiveled around and begun to yell, “Mista! Mista, are you there?! Answer me!”
There was no Mista. No Diavolo, no King Crimson. No Sex Pistols. There were no bricks or stone, no sun or moon, no animals or people... Giorno could hear nothing, even though he was sure he was breathing, and when he crouched to touch whatever he was standing on, he destabilized and began to... something.
Was this sensation... Fall...ing? Because it didn’t feel as if he was lying down.
No... No, wait, he was lying down. In the grass, no less. And Gold Experience Requiem looked down at him as Giorno realized he was in a field somewhere. Hopefully, still in Italy... but, no buildings were in sight. It was just him, his Stand, and a couple of trees close by and in the distance.
“...Gold Experience?” he asked. The Stand nodded, but still remained in Requiem mode. Giorno sat up and looked around, trying to find someone who might... No, it was pointless. No one was around. Even if he called for Mista again, no doubt nothing would come back at all.
Giorno repeated his Stand’s name once, twice, then looked back up at the sky. As he stared, shaking in confusion, gently Gold Experience Requiem wrapped its arms around Giorno’s shoulders and looked on with him.
The stars were disappearing.
What had happened?
Napoli, Italy. The weather was a slight drizzle.
Officer Mista of the police stretched his arms back and yawned as he sat on a bench outside a store, still waiting for his food to cool down. He had bought a nice, hot meal of hamburgers and fries, but it was far too hot for him to touch. He wouldn’t blame anyone for that, though – not even himself. He just had to be patient and wait for his teammate to pick him up to eat some food in the car and not in the once downpour.
It was so weird to have some free time, thought Mista, because the Chief of Police was so determined to clean up the streets it was almost as if sleep wasn’t a concept for him. So, even though it was something like one AM and Mista had to go to a convenience store for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it was a first to not have to immediately be on the road again. In fact, his friend was also off buying something to eat, though more likely at a fast food place like Wendy’s or something.
Mista prodded his bag with the back of his hand and with a mutter of “Nope, still too hot...” he took another look up and down the street. It was at this point that Mista became aware of a young man in blue standing next to him, looking absolutely miserable as his suit was drenched head to toe in rain water.
“Excuse me...” the man said. Mista flinched, causing the young man to hold his hands up in defense.
Actually, was he even a young man at all? “...Yo,” Mista said in reply, a hand going for his bag of food.
The man pointed at his bare wrist and said, “Do you happen to have the time...?”
“It’s past curfew, I know that much.”
“Well, I... Sorry, let me restate that.” The man stood a little taller and stuck a thumb out, pointing behind him. “I just arrived from America, and the time difference has thrown me off. I’m afraid I can’t find any clocks in the darkness, either, and this is the first place I found being open.” The man then dug his hands into his pockets and, through golden bangs, Mista saw crystal blue eyes full of worry. “I just wondered if you had the time so I could...”
“Sir,” Mista started. He lightened his tone and felt his bag again, before dropping it on his lap. “Do you even have a place to go to?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Because the only people trapped in the rain like you have been are hobos or fools. And, well, you look pretty damn smart.” Mista then motioned to the seat next to him. “I’m Officer Mista, a police officer. My friend’s coming to pick me up soon, so, sit by me and we’ll find you somewhere to stay.”
The man (no, he was clearly a teenager, but) smiled and muttered a thanks before taking his seat. Without asking, Mista opened the bag of fries he had bought and held them out to the side, revealing them to the poor guy. “What’s your name?”
“...Haruno Shiobana,” the blonde said. Tentatively, Haruno reached in and grabbed a few fries.
“Glad to meet you. Don’t worry about the food, I can just buy more. Who knows when that idiot Narancia will get here... You got an age, sir?”
“...Well, I can tell you it’s my birthday soon, but, I forgot how old I was.”
“When is that?”
“April 16th.”
Haruno looked up and saw the sweet smile on Mista’s face as the bag was very casually dropped in his lap. “Well, then, happy birthday. It’s been April 16th since the last hour.”