You don't have to do that stuff with me. Take care of me-- what's there to take care of?

[Down two fingers, maybe, but that was nothing when you'd fought a vampire. Polnareff shrugs the shoulder Giorno isn't leaning on (because god forbid he disturb the figure settled against him).]

You're you. You're clever and you're seventeen and you're the don of a mafia, which is pretty damn impressive, by the way. You're a child to me because you're my sister's age, because you are younger, but that doesn't mean I think that you're a baby. Just-- younger.

[A moment of silence, and then:]

Aren't I the one supposed to take care of you?