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Part 2 of Two Sides Of The Same Coin , Part 1 of Reflections & Refractions
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2020-10-19
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2022-01-18
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21/?
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The Devil On Your Shoulder

Chapter 21: The Honest Answer Is That You Can’t Possibly Give Me What I Want.

Notes:

I debated on withholding this chapter until later because once I start classes, I don't know when I'll be able to update anything again. (Two days left before I lose my freedom forever!)
I ended up dropping it, obviously, because I don't want to sit on it. I just want it out.

*Important notice!!!*
I am rewriting the first two chapters (I already wrote the first scene of chapter 1 and posted it, I'm going to do the others tomorrow morning or maybe one more tonight.) I just can't stand the writing style I had from a year ago and I also really don't like how I set up Diavolo and Giorno here. I wasn't specific enough with Giorno's reasoning for being how he is this whole fic and it's always bothered me.
Give me a chance to add a bit to bulk out the first two chapters anyway and make them feel more cohesive with the rest of the story. I'm not adding new scenes, just adding to what's already there and making everything read better. I'll put a note in the fic summary when I'm done with re-writes if anyone is interested. <3

I promise to respond to comments from the last chapter soon as well! I just spent so long fixating on getting this done that my free time was spent only doing this. But I did read them all, thank you guys so much for all the engagement! It makes posting these chapters all the sweeter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The passage of time had become blurred and disjointed, making it almost impossible to determine how much time had moved forward since their departure from the villa. The reflection of the sun hanging in the eastern half of the sky in the still lake water was enough to say it was still morning, always growing closer to noon, but not close enough. 

Giorno’s shoes were drenched in water, having taken one step too many when running as far from the scene of their secrets reveal. Ending up at the lakeside was not thought out, a subconscious desire to find some recess of peace and quiet. The early morning beach had yet to be harassed by the usual crowd of tourists and over excited children. While as a tranquil spot, in theory, the internal turmoil still radiated off the boy in unending droves, with no signs of stopping even with the change of scenery.

The ripples that extended out from where Giorno stood, disturbing the calm surface water with each breath he took, was evidence of this. The vacant stare that burned their shared set of eyes as the boy continued to forget to blink, the violent splash of water that followed before Giorno turned and fell onto the boulder behind him as a makeshift seat, clutching his arms to only return to the same view of his reflection just seconds before. 

To say Giorno was upset would be putting it mildly. 

 

“They’re still there.” 

 

Diavolo perked up at the teenager’s words. That was the first thing Giorno had said after making it outside and he was already growling through his teeth. 

It was no mystery to Diavolo as to what Giorno was referring to. The very subject of his stare, the center of his reflection that he had scrambled to find while desperate to confirm the meaning behind that dying roach’s words. An observation that had Diavolo equally as concerned, even if he remained quiet about his own uneasy reaction when faced with the outburst vicariously displaying the culmination of both of their feelings on the matter in full. 

“I don’t understand… Why do I have your eyes?” Giorno grasped his shirt tight over his chest, the rest of his body still as he continued to speak the obvious of their current predicament. “It’s my body! So why—?”

Hesitant to anger the teenager more, Diavolo worked to fill in some gaps in how this possession of theirs appears to function. “When given control… I’ve noticed that your body takes on that characteristic of mine. My eyes.”

“I’m not even going to understand how that is biologically possible—” As if anything about this could be rationalized by science. “—But I’m in control now! I’m the one moving, speaking— so why are they still like this!?”

Diavolo thought himself lucky the boy wasn’t blaming him for this. Giorno knew better than to believe that Diavolo would willingly give away his presence for all to see. 

“I don’t know.” Though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen this happen before, with another… “Perhaps… I’m speaking from experience of a different kind, but my—Doppio would have this occur now and then. Most often, under cases of extreme stress or anger. There was a feedback loop. He’d get upset and so would I. Perhaps the emotions bleeding into one another were the cause.”

What had bewitched Diavolo to suggest that was unclear to him, as if what he said were true, then his connection with his soul bore with Giorno’s grew ever deeper than anticipated. Was one revelation after another revealing further entanglement since their bond’s inception? Or was it always there, with no intention of future reversal of this curse crafted into Requiem's work from the onset? 

It was not as though Diavolo’s idea held no merit, either. This breakdown had taken a toll on the both of them, adrenaline still pumping through Giorno’s system, and both minds forced to remain alert and on edge as the world continued to escalate around them.

“It does not matter to me what method you choose, but you need to relax and ease your mind back to rational thought. The greatest threat right now is your inability to calm yourself.”

“How can I relax? Bucciarati saw me— saw us! There is no fixing this. He saw your stand, my recklessness. Even if I try to convince him of anything else…” Giorno bowed his head, turning away from his distraught reflection. “If this is some kind of feedback loop , then I’m not the only one upset about this!”

How observant of him.

Diavolo let out an internal sigh as he mused his own state over. 

The secret of his continued existence was unraveling far too fast for his liking. It was Giorno who sought to convince his friends that Diavolo was little threat to their safety, a demeaning truth that would do well to keep conflict to a minimum. Both the man’s confrontations with his daughter had proven that there was no expectation of peace or mutual trust to be found, not that he wished for any of that. No. But the less Diavolo had to interact with the others, the better and at this rate, he was going to be put under the spotlight no matter what they did. Forced to answer for his actions.

Diavolo owed them nothing. None of his cooperation. His insight. 

 

And yet…

 

“Bucciarati must be furious with me.”

“Quite possibly.”

“Upset would be—”

“—A given. Yes. You did lie to him and then ran off the moment your plan came crashing down around you with no explanation to temper his reaction.”

“You’re not helping.” Giorno scorned, reaching down for one of the rocks by his feet to brush his thumb against the surface, transfixed by the cold, smooth sensation in his grip. 

“I’m merely pointing out that I can… empathize with the general feeling of crucial plans set long into motion, becoming undone by unforeseen circumstances.” 

There was a pause in their back and forth. Giorno had stopped fiddling with the rock in his hand, connecting the obvious dotted lines between the parallels that Diavolo was drawing. 

“You must be enjoying this. Watching me fumble around my own mistakes and make things worse over and over again for a laugh stemming from your own twisted fulfillment. Is this your idea of revenge?”

Under different circumstances, Diavolo wouldn’t have possessed any reservations about gloating over how right he’d been about the boy’s misguided actions. Giorno’s unwillingness to cut to the chase, avoiding all of this drama in favor of laying his cards out in the open and dealing with the consequences firsthand. Most of this was really all his doing, with very little prompting on Diavolo’s part, as all the teenager’s actions had worked towards his benefit up until he chose to start revealing the truth. 

If Diavolo had felt inclined to do so, he could very well enforce this idea of Bucciarati despising the teenager, fueling Giorno’s own doubt of reconciliation and tearing the two apart even further by the boy’s own undoing. A very tempting idea, both causing suffering where it was due and continuing to gain influence over the way the boy thought, enforcing that habit of Diavolo’s input replacing Giorno’s own inner workings… It would all be so easy! Right there for the taking! 

 

And yet…

 

The man couldn’t find that emotional high, that long-sought-after satisfaction that was always paired in talks of revenge even as Diavolo reconsidered pressing his influence further and further as a means to get back Giorno for everything he and his stand had put him through.

Was he actually feeling pity?

Diavolo was certainly not sorry for anything he’s done. If he was to regret anything, as much as the idea was loathsome to him, it would be acting as passive as he had when Giorno sought to use his stand. But that was a matter of principle rather than an actual issue with how effective the results came from the means by which the boy took down their foe. 

Brushing this… concerning feeling aside, looking at the matter objectively, still yielded the same results.

The short-term gains were worthless to the consequences of the long term. 

Like beating a dead horse, the subject of the future came up again and again. Diavolo had convinced himself that Passione and his legacy were enough to focus on. Ruining Passione's leadership would do nothing to keep his organization afloat in these apparently troubled times they were in would do nothing beneficial in that regard. Even if the man managed to sow discord and Giorno made it through it all in one piece… There was every possibility that the teenager would abandon everything or better yet, destroy it all in retaliation for not even Diavolo’s meddling, but his very presence and spoken desire to keep it all intact. 

Revenge would prompt revenge, and if he were to ever achieve any semblance of peace in this life, Diavolo would go as far as to say he wasn’t looking to do any lasting damage because of that. But, with the unfortunate way his presence was revealed to Bucciarati, irreparable damage may have already been done.

“Honestly, I’m far too tired with all this to waste my time and energy scheming up revenge plots. Does it amuse me that you’re not infallible and therefore have to struggle to get the outcomes you wish? Yes, it does. Hopefully, this will humble you and we can all look back on this affair as one that built character or perhaps taught you a valuable lesson about insecurity so we can all move on from this game of, ‘Oh, I am so scared to lose my friends if they find out that my greatest foe is stuck with me now.’ Even though you’ve witnessed first-hand the faith they have in you. It’s getting infuriating.”

“I— You—!” Giorno chucked the rock as far as he could and jumped to his feet to scream out what would be nothing to an outside observer. “Why aren’t you trying harder to— You know what? I bet you are purposefully doing the opposite of every possible fear I’ve had concerning your appearance just to spite me! I can’t even feel justified in my own paranoia since all you’ve done is berate me and even offer this backward guidance every time we speak… talk about infuriating! I still can’t wrap my head around it!”

“And what is it that you want from me?”

“Just tell me the truth! What is your end goal here? I’m not stupid to think there isn’t manipulation at play, but I’m not going to also sit here and blame you for everything I’ve done up to this point either. As absurd as this is to even expect an honest answer, just tell me what you want from all this besides upholding your ‘legacy’ and whatever ego you still have!”

“I’ve told you before what I want.” Diavolo scoffed, doing his damndest not to sink down to the teenager’s level and start whining back at him. 

“No more cryptic answers.”

“And what do I gain from doing that? What makes you think you deserve a direct answer from me?”

“Because if it's reasonable, then we can, I don’t know, at least work something out!” Giorno heaved through his breaths, haphazardly pacing on the rocks as the tremors returned to his hands. His heart rate increased through his veins, unrelenting as he stammered through his words, ignoring the obvious objections Diavolo continued to voice.

“Stop.”

“I’m tired of all this stress! I’m tired of looking over my shoulder every time I move, say or do anything around others! I can’t focus on anything that matters without all this following me!”

“Stop talking.”

“I want to go back to how things were! To that small window of normalcy, I had felt for the first time in my life until… all of this happened!”

“Enough! Are you not listening to yourself!?”  

King Crimson’s arms shot out from behind the teenager’s body and gripped both his shoulders in place, urging Giorno to stop moving, speaking— thinking! Even just for a moment as panic surged through their system again and, in turn, broke through the composure Diavolo had worked so hard to maintain. 

“Do you believe you are the only one out of the two of us who wishes for things to return to normal? To rewind time and go back to how it used to be?” The man was practically shaking the boy through his stand, jerking him back and forth until he was sure that his words pierced that thick skull of his. “If I could have anything right now, it would be my own body, my own agency in my actions with the other half I prefer leagues above you by my side! But even if you were persuaded to do the former, your stand won’t allow it as your life and possibly mine would come to an end if the attempt was made. What I am doing is making do with what I have!”

Diavolo let go of the stupefied brat, dismissing the stand entirely as if letting his arms drop down to his side, fed up with how appalling the both of them had become. This was the exact opposite of calming down, ignoring his own suggestion in favor of coming a hair’s length away or quite literally slapping some sense back into that boy. If only Diavolo were able to discern whether the Requiem stand would see it as an attack or not, then he may actually get away with it as his daughter had before him.

How easily Giorno had turned desperate, settling on making a deal to garner some peace of mind under the belief that it might hold the key working through the rest of this hell he’d created for himself. In a way, it was insulting. The boy wasn’t thinking. He was looking for an easy answer that wasn’t there and going against every warning sign that something like this was a bad idea— What if he were to act the same to a rival Don? Another enemy wishing to take his head? If Giorno couldn’t juggle this, how was he ever going to survive when the months turn to years and the entire famiglia’s network rests on his shoulders?

The man had thought the teenager to be better than this.

“The honest answer is that you can’t possibly give me what I want. You know that, so don’t debase yourself as you are doing now. It’s shameful. Is this how I am to believe you’re going to solve all your problems in the future? By begging?”

“I suppose you would have me punch a hole through them all?” 

Half-assed and tapering at the end, the teenager’s counter lacked the bite it normally had as Giorno fell into contemplation. His mouth had reacted faster than he could think, but given the silence that followed, there was enough confidence in assuming that Giorno wasn’t brushing off Diavolo’s words as flippantly as his reaction would have the man believe.

Diavolo gave Giorno a much-needed moment to think, responding only when his heart-rate had lowered by a noticeable amount so that their conversation could remain functional. 

“At least Vermicelli is out of your hair now.” The one advantage to using violence as a means to an end was that, unless the opponent possessed Giorno’s nuisance of a healing ability, they had a habit of staying dead. 

“Thank you for the wonderful silver lining that is.” Giorno forced a grin through his scrunched-up face, now tired and worn from a morning that never seemed to end. “Three friendships on the verge of collapse, but hey, we beat the bad guy.”

“That was what you set out to do. The fact that they all survived means you have a chance to do that thing where you express regret over your actions and then bribe them with promises to do better in order to regain their favor.”

“You mean talk things out and make up?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Right.” The teenager turned back to the open water, staring out across the lake as a long exhale of air was released from his lungs. “That would require me going back to face… them.”

“Bucciarati.” Diavolo clarified.

“It’s not even Bucciarati that’s the problem! My own hypocrisy about keeping secrets and going behind my back—Even if I am Don, something like this supersedes organizational hierarchy. I can’t even look at him...” Looking once again to keep his hands occupied, Giorno placed both hands lazily into his pockets, only to flinch when the tips of his fingers brushed against a smooth piece of plastic. 

“I think now I will indulge in an ‘I told you so.’”

Giorno glanced down at the screen on his cell, painfully scrolling through a slew of unimportant notifications and missed calls that have been ignored since the beginning of this trip. Not just busy-work, but another means of delaying the inevitable so long as the task could keep his attention off the topic at hand, even if only for a few seconds. As quickly as he started, Giorno soon stopped scrolling, when the most recent missed calls were brought to the forefront. One in particular, somehow overlooked during this madness, had been missed not moments ago, keeping their current subject from being completely shoved in the background. Backing up from that page, Giorno still responded to the man’s teasing, just not with the objection or counter expected of him. 

“Go ahead. It’s deserved—” The teenager’s mouth hung half-open as he was abruptly cut off midway through his sentence by a new pop-up taking up the entirety of his cell phone’s screen. The soon device buzzed in his hand, caught on loop as the teenager flickered his eyes over the caller’s name a few times over. The same caller he had just missed making a second attempt to reach him yet again.

 

[Bruno Bucciarati]

 

As if the Consigliere had foreseen the teenager’s hesitation to get this affair sorted out, half the work was done for him in getting this painful dialogue between them over with. The thought had crossed Diavolo’s mind that he was going to have to personally prod the boy into answering the damned device before he’d lose his chance, but a solid inhale to steel himself for the discussion to come was enough to see that wasn’t necessary. And as the boy’s thumb pressed down to accept the call, the man had half the mind to tune what came next out until he was inevitably dragged back into the conversation for one reason or another. 

Not that Diavolo respected the teenager’s privacy, he just found all this relationship drama to have grown grating against his non-existent ears.

But it was what the Consigliere said next as Giorno answered without speaking a word, letting the ambient noise of where he stood to notify that the call had made a connection. A connection that had stapled Diavolo’s attention in place completely.

 

“Hey, Boss. It’s good to see that you're finally answering your phone.”

 

Both minds halted at the sound of the voice on the other line, soft and containing genuine hints of gratitude that were far from what either had anticipated once the call was accepted. The growing sense of unease didn’t stop there, merely a jumping-off point as Diavolo pondered over the exact words spoken. Bucciarati was the speaker, but he didn’t sound quite like the young man he had the unfortunate chance to get to know during his time by Giorno’s side. His voice was lighter, a bit higher, with less of a commanding air than his presence was supposed to hold. 

A voice so impossibly familiar.

The use of ‘Boss’ was also an oddity on its own, as someone like Giorno’s gunman would call the teenager that as a more casual means of acknowledging rank. Bucciarati, in contrast, had never done anything of the sort. That detail was picked up on by Giorno as well. Just as Diavolo had, he paused to take in what he was heard before committing to a response, taking too long to reply and prompting the voice on the other end of the line to speak to him again.

“I don’t know everything that is going on right now… but I’m here now.” The voice coming in through the speaker had progressively gotten louder, repeating over itself in two layers as if two different people were talking. When in reality, it was the phone’s speaker on a slight delay from the real voice speaking out from behind them, sending a shiver shooting up through the boy’s spine as Giorno spun around in place, the phone still in his hand. 

Less than a handful of meters away, Bucciarati stood alone at the bottom of a small dip in elevation, denoting where the land ended and the mix of sand and rocks began. As expected, a phone was also held up to his ear, his approach temporarily halted by the sudden move Giorno had made, though all Giorno did was stare in awe at the man’s unexpected appearance.

An appearance that wasn’t quite right, an answer that remained at the tip of Diavolo’s tongue as he assessed Bucciarati from Giorno’s view and tried his damndest to piece together what had shaken his soul so intensely that each word spoken had him believing…

No.

How nonsensical! 

He was looking for apparitions where there were none!

‘How did he find us so fast?’ Giorno noted, externally holding his breath as his confusion spread to the occupant in his mind, subjected to whatever was going wrong on Diavolo’s end. ‘Why are you—?’

The Consigliere took another step forward, testing the waters as neither Giorno nor Diavolo made an attempt to move. To react. Something should have been said by now, but all they did had paved the way for the man to continue towards them. The Consigliere’s features became clearer, the thread that Diavolo had long since assumed had been cut and discarded pulling him closer as a set of brown eyes he’d given up seeing again had replaced Bucciarati’s natural blue. 

Bucciarati smiled.

But that wasn’t his smile.

 

It was…

 

“Please don’t run away again. Ok?”

 

It couldn’t be.

 

It shouldn’t be!

 

And yet…



“…Doppio?”



When had Diavolo taken control? 

An honest question, one the man asked once he’d already felt the full flood of sensation stricken Giorno’s body, now responding to the equal parts of grief and jubilation stemming from Diavolo’s being. Confusion, disbelief, even panic were thrown into the mix, experienced by both him and Giorno alike as the questions of how and why bubbled up to the surface as immediate things to be answered.

‘Doppio?’ Giorno had repeated the name Diavolo had let loose in the air. There was a tug, a weak bid for control that went nowhere, as Diavolo couldn’t give up his position just yet. He couldn’t.

‘I have to know—just let me see!’  

Now it was Diavolo’s turn to be desperate, forcing Giorno’s feet to step forward in search of answers. Squinting at this apparition before him, Diavolo peered as deep as he could into those eyes above his own, as if looks alone could reveal the truth of what they were looking at. 

“Is that… really you?”

A gentle nod, the distance between them closing even further until both parties were so close that one could reach out and touch the other. All Diavolo had to do was extend a hand. The last bit of proof that what he was hearing, that what he was feeling was…

“It’s me.” 

“How…?”

Bucciarati— Doppio —lowered his head. 

“I’m sorry… I couldn’t reach you sooner. B-But… you—!”  

It all happened so suddenly. Diavolo wasn’t even looking down at the Consligliere’s hands, the way they tensed and curled in spite of the swirl of somber happiness on his face. The pent-up anger, frustration and fury, all shoved into five fingers that collided with the cheek untouched from yesterday’s altercation with his daughter.

He should have been thrown over onto his ass, gripping his jaw in pain if the swing had been at full force. Instead, the punch was pulled, remaining still against his face. His feet still standing. The anger it once held now took shape in Doppio’s eyes as the air soon filled with inescapable shouting and beratement. 

 

“YOU DIDN’T MAKE IT EASY! You self-centered asshole! After all this time, I finally found you and you ran off—you keep running off!”

 

“What the hell are you doing!?”

That sounded like the bodyguard’s voice, calling out over the beach as a gasp from another joined the chorus of shock permeating the air. Diavolo did not look in their direction. There was not enough time to react to even do so, as Doppio, with both hands, grabbed hold of Diavolo and yanked him forward until he was stuck in his grip. His other half continued to wail on him, his shoulder blades the new target of his rapidly deteriorating strikes that were nothing more than empty threats, barely tapping against his back.

Still, instinct told Diavolo to move. To struggle. To fight out of this death grip when his mind grew still, still processing scene playing out before his eyes. 

Instead, he forced himself to half-raise an open palm, gesturing for the onlookers to remain where they were. Do not interfere. 

‘This is… him?’ Giorno’s muted skepticism wasn’t answered aloud, not even with so much as a yes spoken just between them. Diavolo didn’t have to.

“I hate you so much! I kept calling, and you never answered!” Doppio’s grip on Diavolo tightened. Was he crying? Was Doppio crying because of him? Y-You left me! You left me, only to get yourself into such a fucking mess. You’re such a—!” Screaming had devolved into wailing, broken up by the need to breathe lest he passed out on top of him.

“I missed you too.”

A whisper of the truth. It was all Diavolo could do, his face stuck in this perpetual feeling of shock, eyes growing wet from the wind stinging against them as they remained wide in terror that merely blinking would whisk this dream away from him. 

Both phones had fallen from their hands with no sound to accompany where they landed.

“You’re lying.” Doppio mumbled in his ear.

“I would never lie to you. Not about this.” Diavolo insisted back, reciprocating the stranglehold Doppio had kept on him by bending his elbows and letting his hands fall in place around his Consigliere’s waist. In all the times Doppio had mentioned off-handedly the idea of the two of them ever engaging in something like this, a common hug. This was not the method the man had ever humored such a feat would be accomplished through. 

If they were able, neither of them would have willingly removed themselves from the other. Not after spending so long apart. But circumstance, as it always had, got in the way of such a fantasy, as Doppio was the first to loosen his hold and gradually slide his arms off his other half. 

“I don’t want to let you go, but… Bucciarati really needs to speak to Giorno. They have… a lot to talk about.”

“We all do, apparently.” Diavolo looked his Consigliere in the eyes, scouring for answers he wasn’t going to find in silence as to what could have possibly occurred between the last time he had seen Bucciarati and now, to have apparently brought his Doppio back from the dead. Unless this was not a new development, but another important event hidden by Bucciarati himself. Giorno was certainly considering the possibility, but neither of them could say otherwise until everything was openly laid out on the table for discussion.

If this was another unspoken doing of Requiem’s, then there were going to be many aggressive words vaulted in that stand’s direction. Surely not just from himself, who was slighted at being kept in the dark, but by Giorno and the rest of his team, who now had to deal with two cases of possession in their midst.

‘Giorno—’

‘I’m going to take control now.’

The warning came with a pause, a chance for Diavolo to say one more thing. Anything. To which the man graciously accepted the opportunity with a promise of his own.

“We’ll talk later.”

The teenager’s eyes fluttered a bit, control shifting as he forced his consciousness to the front seat of the body they were forced to share. His gaze remained fixed on the man in front of him, full of concern as Bucciarati stumbled forward in place as Doppio disappeared from view. 

“Bucciarati!” Reacting fast, Giorno reached out and supported the Consigliere’s body until he could get settled on his feet again, appearing unused to the jarring sensation of switching control as the pair had gotten somewhat adept at dealing with each time it occurred. 

“I’m… alright.” The Consigliere failed to be convincing, reaching for his head and shutting his eyes tight to avoid the sun beating down on him. “I just need to—”

“—Get used to being in your own skin?” An earnest attempt to understand Bucciarati’s discomfort had Giorno flinching, unable to tell if being honest about such a feeling was going to make the man react. 

“That’s it.” Bucciarati shook his head, using his growing confidence to pull himself together and stand on his own, with the teenager letting go without a fight. The Consigliere then opened his eyes to the lake beside them, the same blue reflecting in the lake and its waves so close by their feet. “I can see why someone would come out here. It’s quite the view.”

“I… needed some fresh air.”

“There really isn't enough of it these days, is there?”

Giorno gulped down his restless nerves, glancing back as his reflection in the water, now devoid of any signs that anyone but himself was speaking to the man beside him. Diavolo’s unveiling had already made the teenager restless, but Doppio’s appearance would have surely thrown him over the edge if the very trust issues from before were still plaguing his system. Buried in a pile of additional problems at his feet, now adding to the entangled mess they started with, there really wasn’t an optimal place for their conversation to begin. 

And it appeared that the Consigliere came to the same conclusion.

“Giorno… I don’t know where we should begin, but…”

A quick glance at the figures standing in Giorno’s peripheral confirmed the presence of both the bodyguard Mista and Trish as onlookers to this affair. All three of them were in the loop now, making this a conversation for all to hear unless he wished to repeat much of it over a second time.

The teenager took one last breath and made a decision.

 

“How about we begin with breakfast? And then… we start over from the beginning?”

 

Notes:

Too many thoughts.

I really went all-in on reluctant mentor Diavolo. I couldn't help it. All of it felt right as I wrote it so I really went with it. This idea that due to circumstance and the way they've been forced to interact and slowly get to know one another, feelings of attachment or 'pity' would come through.

And then, of course, Doppio shows up.
So, I had a lot of trouble figuring out the best way to write this scene here, because I wanted to give Doppio and Diavolo the space they needed to have the reunion scene while making sure everyone else wasn't OOC for not reacting. I think Giorno was in shock/understood that if roles were reversed and it was someone he cared about, he'd act the same as Diavolo here so I give him a pass. Mista and Trish are there, but they'll get more time to talk next chapter, plus Doppio's outburst was immediately followed up by a hug so...
(side note, I love the hug so much. It's both Diavolo and Doppio plus Bucciarati and Giorno and I just... I'm very happy I was able to include this scene)
As for Bucciarati, I don't think he would have condoned the punch if he'd known it was coming, even if it was for Diavolo since Giorno's body and all that. I was going to have Doppio originally throttle Diavolo some more, but Giorno's gone through too much, he doesn't deserve to be a punching bag. :(

I do like the ending here. The location I chose reflects both on Giorno's and Diavolo's inner mind spaces where they run off to be alone and reflect (literally) and we have Giorno choosing to take everything head-on in the next chapter that I am affectionately calling an awkward family breakfast.

I don't know when I'll be able to update next but thank you, everyone, so much for being here so far! You guys are all amazing and I really hope to see you all next time!