Revelations and Confessions

[madimpossibledreamer]

I just imagine the Pistols ‘stealthing’ like Yosuke and Chie.
Shady Hat Guy brought to you by Urahat.
The Pistols don't speak English.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure Eyes of Heaven
Summary: Eyes of Heaven: Explored mostly as a source of working through jojo issues ;)
Sex Pistols spies on a conversation between REO Speedwagon and Giorno.
Word Count: 1007
Rating: Gen

          “Hey, look, it’s Giorno!” Uno points out excitedly.
          “Yo, Giorno!” Sei yells, waving energetically.
          “Shh, I’m trying to hear,” Due shushes the others.  “That’s the shady hat guy.  And if Giorno’s already emotional and vulnerable, then shady hat guy might take advantage.”
          The Pistols all line up behind one of the vending machines, watching Giorno, who’s sitting on the side of the fountain listlessly.  He still looks cool as he sits, but more closed up, watchful.
          “He doesn’t like shady hat guy either,” Uno concludes thoughtfully.
          “Mr. Giovanna, wasn’t it?  I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”
          “Have you?  I’m sorry I haven’t been more available.”  Giorno’s generally polite, but he actually seems a little dismissive at the moment.
          “It’s all right.  There’s been a lot going on.  A lot of things to get used to.”  Hat Guy walks up and stands awkwardly next to Giorno, who looks up with a curious look in his eye.  “It’s about your father.”
          “Woah!” Uno whispers as quietly as he can.  “I recognize the term ‘father’—‘padre’.  Shady Foreign Hat Man is messing with him!”
          “That bastard; he could at least speak Italian!” Sei mutters darkly, cracking his little fists.
          Giorno stills even further.  “What about him?”
          “I’ve been traveling a lot, and I learned a little about your backstory, though I might not be the person to ask about it, since I found it a little confusing.”  Hat Guy pauses.  “You have the star birthmark, right?”
          Giorno nods shortly.
          “That’s the mark of a Joestar.  No matter what the others say, you are one of them.”
          “Is there some reason they might say something like that?” the shining blond asks softly.
          Hat Guy hesitates again.  “Well, the short version of the story goes like this.  Your real father is Jonathan Joestar.  Dio Brando sold his soul to become a vampire and tried to kill Jonathan—and did kill his father and a bunch of other people, as well as turning them into vampires.  He wanted power and didn’t care that the Joestar family had taken him in and raised him.”
          “He tried to kill you, too, didn’t he?” Giorno questions quietly.
          “Not just me.  Jonathan’s a gentleman with a noble heart and didn’t deserve any of it.  Apparently after his death Dio took Jonathan’s body.”  Hat Guy fidgets.
          “And I was born after that.” Giorno finishes dully.
          “Giorno seems shocked.  What the hell did the guy actually say to him?” Sei yells, and Giorno’s head turns to look in their direction.  The Pistols all huddle further behind the vending machine.  Shady Hat Guy doesn’t even turn to look.
          “I’m sorry that it’s a shock.  I thought you should know.  I know you’re only helping to ensure the fate of your friends, but I’d feel bad if I kept this from you, particularly if the others brought it up,” Hat Guy explains, and Giorno nods automatically.
          “I appreciate the thought; thank you.”  Hat Guy walks past, and the Pistols flatten themselves against the vending machine (all but Sette, that is).
          “Look, he didn’t look at us.  He might not have a Stand,” he explains, and then gulps when a shadow falls over him, slowly turning to look.
          “Were you listening in?” Giorno asks, tone deceptively mild.  The angry glint in his eyes shows that he’s not actually all that calm.
          “Mista was worried,” Sette informs Giorno quickly, trying to avoid the consequences of that anger.
          “So he sent us.  Because we don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want us to,” Uno takes over.
          “He wants to kiss you,” Tre snarls.  “It’s disgusting.”
          “We weren’t supposed to tell him that.  He only just now figured it out,” Sette scolds.
          Cinque wails and flies over, not maintaining a respectful (and safe!) distance like the others.  “He wants to hold your hand and know your favorite color and talk to you about shark meat!”
          That earns a perfect raised eyebrow.
          “And maybe shoot people in places that hurt who hurt you,” Sei adds protectively.
          “Because he’s told us that you act like a bullied kid which means bastards stole your lunch and hurt you and that’s not okay,” Due pouts.
          “Hmm,” Giorno narrows his eyes, but it’s not further anger, given that he reaches out to pet Cinque thoughtfully.  “How much did you hear?”
          They glance at each other, weighing their response, before Sette and Uno speak at once—“Not much,” “We got here when that hat guy did.”  Then they pause to stare at each other again.
          “Mista doesn’t trust the hat guy,” Sei adds.
          “It’s not like any of us speak weird foreign languages,” Due explains shyly.
          The blond smiles at that.  “I appreciate it, but I also wouldn’t want to be a burden.”
          “You’re not a burden.  Mista sent us because he cares,” Sette explains reasonably.
          “That’s a lie!  Mista wouldn’t care if Giorno was a burden ever!” Tre disagrees harshly, crossing his arms.
          Cinque emerges to bravely stare down Tre, lip quivering but eyes determined.  “Giorno is Giorno, not a burden.  I-it’s okay to feel stuff!”
          Tre gets closer and closer, and Cinque, though intimidated, refuses to move.  “’Che.  Whatever.”
          “Please don’t fight,” Giorno orders in his regal voice, and Cinque glances up, tears in his eyes.
          “This is important,” he insists, even as Tre for the first time that any Pistol can recall, backs down, conceding the point if only because the continued effort to convince the others of the ‘truth’ isn’t worth it.
          “I appreciate it,” Giorno repeats, voice genuinely warm and caring.  He takes a deep breath.  “Let’s find somewhere to sit, all right?”
          Somewhere ends up being on top of the train, dangling his legs, pose still graceful but also allowing himself to act as a normal delinquent teenager for once.
          He buys trail mix and allows the Pistols to eat out of his hand like pigeons.  They’re too distracted by the food to actually pay attention, but it gives him time to think about what to say and how to say it.