( closed ) steady now, steady now

[digiorno]

Who: Giorno & closed (Lady Maria, Kaede, Pannacotta Fugo, Ozymandias, Zelda)
When: Backdated, mid-Deceuer (8—13)
Where: The Haunted Mansion.
What: Giorno dies and then is fine.
Warnings: Character death — naturally.

i. ready now, ready now ( 8th—9th | onset )

[It’s as the snow starts to smother Aefenglom that Giorno realizes something is really wrong.]

[The wrongness isn’t new. His body hasn’t just started breaking down; it’s been falling apart little by little since he arrived in this city, aches and pains crescendoing into long nights confined to bed in the last couple of full moons. But this is different. This isn’t just weakness getting weaker or creaking joints getting creakier. This isn’t like anything that’s happened before.]

[This is a fatigue that catches him out of nowhere in his sitting room chair by the window. He’s watching the snow fall, and then it’s on him like a truck’s hit, the weight of the world crushing him until his eyes just won’t stay open, until he can’t stay sitting up. When he’s found curled up in the seat, dead asleep, a few minutes or hours later, he’s disoriented and confused, unsure how he ended up there or when he fell asleep.]

[That same crushing exhaustion finds him again the following evening, sneaking up and knocking him straight off his feet. One second he’s standing with a hand on the counter, the next he’s fallen in a graceless pile with a crash of limbs on stone. There’s a vicious hiss that peters out into a breathy sound of pain as he tries, but fails, to stand on his own.]

[It takes him a long time to give up, but eventually, even he has to. Without making eye contact with anyone else in the room, he allows, flatly, grimly,] . . . I think I need help.

ii. i’ll hold onto you (10th—11th | deterioration )

[Before he passes out on the morning of the night, he sends out two messages. Their contents are identical, although there are unique spelling errors in each. To Zelda and Ozymandias, and no one else, he texts:]

Good morning. I think I’m finally dying. If you want to come see me, I’ve told Maria to let you in. Don’t if the weather is too dangerous, please. —Giogio

[Even on a good day, he probably wouldn’t see the issue with this message. This isn’t a good day. He’s difficult to rouse even if visitors do come, drifting in and out of consciousness and coherency. In his best moments, which come more frequently on the first day and the first half of the second, he shifts and turns on his side towards the door as it opens, shivering under heavy blankets with a toothy smile on his face. It’s ghastly, actually. He seems so much thinner all of a sudden, and his fangs stand out as though they’ve grown by a solid centimeter.]

Oh. [Breathless, in a way that might be mistaken for concealed laughter if he wasn’t so obviously panting between each slurred word.] Did something exciting happen?

[It’s around midnight on the eleventh that things start going even more sharply downhill. Pulse weakening, his breath comes more and more shallowly with every minute. He shakes so violently that his teeth clack together; when he manages to open his eyes, he stares out at the room like he doesn’t recognize it. Even still, he doesn’t make a noise — strange for someone who usually talks so much, but there it is: Giorno silently curled under the blanket, back pressed up against the wall, still but for the shake of cold and occasional spasm of undisguisable pain.]

iii. you hold onto me ( 12th—13th | dessication & resurrection )

[As the Sisters hit their apex, at midnight on Deceuer 12, Giorno dies.]

[It’s pretty anticlimactic, all things considered. One moment he’s moving, even if slightly, and breathing, even if poorly. His lips and fingertips have gone blue, eyes wide and frightened framed by lashes that look frozen, even in the warmth of the house. Curled in the fetal position, his gaze follows all movement in the room, wary and uncomprehending.]

[A moment later, and his shoulders loosen, frozen fingers flexing loose their death grip on the comforter. His eyes shift blue-red-rust, and suddenly there’s no one behind them anymore. Suddenly, it’s just a body on the bed.]

[And then it’s time to wait.]

[Not for long, as it turns out. The sun rises late and sets early in Deceuer. It’s late afternoon, 4:30 perhaps, when color starts to return. Slowly, steadily, subtly, the frozen blue leaches out of Giorno’s extremities, is chased away from the bow of his lips and the shadow of his eyes. By six, his eyes are open, and all the blue has landed there.]

[His gaze is bright and clever and owlish. Like it was before, at least so far. Quietly, as at a wake, and in a voice rough with disuse, he finally speaks up.]

Hm. I’m hungry.