fatealteration | (no subject)

That piqued Joseph's interest. "Oh? How's that?"

Giorno held up a small vial, no larger than a finger nail. “This contains a suspension with the poison I managed to safely extract from you.” The process had been a time-consuming one that involved a complex and delicate process of osmosis, diffusion, and Gold Experience having to render it inert when it passed through Joseph’s bloodstream. It was a lot of effort for only a small portion of it—but a small portion was all he needed.

If they had more time Giorno would have banked on safely extracting it all first, but…

“From this, I should be able to synthesize an antidote. To do that, I’ll be ingesting it.”

"Sounds dangerous." More for Giorno than for him. If it failed for him, the results would be the same either way.

“Surely that can’t be the only way,” Caesar piped up, eyeing the tiny vial with a hard look. Just seeing the poison so plainly made bile rise in his throat.

“I’ve thought this through from every angle.” The mess of notebooks behind him on his desk was proof. “The fact that it’s fused to your aorta makes removal difficult. Even if we performed surgery and I used Gold Experience to create a replacement valve or slowly turned the ring into a stream of micro organisms, the poison may be released anyway in the process. There’s no possible way to combat an unknown poison without synthesizing an antidote here and now.”

“You’ll die.” Caesar’s nails dug into the meat of his palm as he tried to keep his cool. “I mean no disrespect. But however quickly your power can work, the poison will work quicker.” The Pillar Men didn’t deliver idle threats.

“I’m sure you’re right. That’s why I asked you to be here, Signore Zeppeli. You—your Hamon—it’s the key to all this. You have incredible powers of healing, don’t you? Please keep me alive long enough to give Gold Experience time to work.”

Caesar just stared at him, disarmed.

He had a role to play in this—in saving Joseph’s life—after all.

Caesar looked at Joseph. He didn’t have to think about it long—there was less than a day left. “Understood.”

"If there's no other way, there's no other way." He didn't have to like it, but there was no other choice.

"I'm ready when you are, grandson!" Joseph gave Giono a little salute.

Even if he said it with his usual irreverent tone, Joseph’s faith felt good.

Giorno went back and forth with Caesar about the best place to do things and they determined it would be the bed. If he got weak he would have a safe place to fall. Even if it was only an incredibly low dose, they weren’t sparing any risks. When he settled down to sit with Caesar behind him, vial in hand, Giorno reflected on how little he’d actually slept in his own bed at that point. Joseph had made greater use of it in the past week and Giorno—usually intensely protective over his own space—hadn’t minded. Those thoughts passed through his mind as he downed the clear fluid in the vial.

Right away, Giorno felt warm. He didn’t know if it was the poison or the Hamon flowing through him from his back. Gold Experience to was to his front. He didn’t need his stand out but he always felt better with it there. It was the only constant companion he’d had. He reached out to touch it—solid, warm, consistent. His own focus was reflected back in its face as it worked.

“How are you feeling, Giorno?” Caesar asked, his hands firmly on his back.

“I’m fine.”

Joseph wished he had something he could do. He knew better than to interrupt their focus with his speaking. So instead he gave Giorno a gentle pat on the head, as if to say "You're doing good, grandson".

Giorno didn’t notice Joseph was touching at first—and when he did, he looked up and just smiled a slightly dazed and faraway smile. His mouth moved but no words came out.

Seeing this as a sign he liked it, he gave Giorno's hair a toussle.

“Giorno.” Caesar swallowed thickly. “Your breathing is slowing. Keep pace with me.”

“Oh…sorry.” Giorno clung to the directive, but his lungs felt heavy. Gold Experience began to fade and he lost his balance sitting upright, tilting over and falling against Joseph’s chest.

"Just like this."

Joseph too kept his breathing in tempo with Caesar, just in case it helped.

Giorno was grinning and he wasn't sure why. He rubbed his forehead against the firm surface of Joseph's collar. "I want to go to Starita...let's get a fried angioletti..."

"Sure, sure," Joseph said agreeably, though he found Giorno's sudden affectionate tone startling. "Whatever you want after this."

Even though barely a minute had passed, it felt like a lifetime. Giorno’s breath was uneven, but he was still upright—

Cough

A sharp metallic smell hit his nose. He pulled the boy back slightly to see a mess of blood pouring from his mouth onto Joseph’s shirt.

!!

"Hey, Giorno!" Joseph gave Giorno a shake, trying to rouse him.

Giorno’s eyes were glassy, unburdened by the effort of focusing. Everything was foggy outlines of light that cut into the shadows before vanishing. His thoughts ruptured into nonsense before dissipating. Joseph’s words bounced around the air before reaching his ears.

“…Mn?” He squinted, but it didn’t help. Everything was dark. He reached up with effort to touch the person’s face in front of him.

Ah.

Everything came back into view, his entire world narrowed to one pinpoint. He knew who this was at once. This was a face he could never forget.

“Padre…sei qui?”

’He’s hallucinating.’

Caesar ignored the panic rising in his throat—-whatever he did, he couldn’t lose focus on his form. He could feel Giorno’s blood vessels rupturing, and he focused one hand over the broadest part of his back to focus the energy into renewing them. The other went to the base of his neck to stabilize his nervous system.

“Jojo.” Caesar nodded urgently to the towel on the bed stand. “Clean him up. Remind him to breathe.”

Caeasar did not need to ask twice. Joseph ripped off his shirt and dabbed at Giorno's face.

Joseph gave Giorno's face a squeeze to make sure he was listening.

"Hey, breathe in time with me."

He grabbed Giorno's hand and pressed it against his chest, and breathed in, then out again. In and out.

His father was asking him to breathe? That was easy. His father could have asked for his beating heart and he would have reached into his own chest to give it to him.

So Giorno did—the pain was distant and meaningless. The exhaustion was nothing. The fear was nothing.

“It’s working. Keep going.” Caesar could feel it—whatever the poison was doing to him, it was slowing.