Chapter Text
- Sees your dreams and feasts on your screams
Bruno Bucciarati had a weird dream. The trouble of pain blooming in his torso made it worse.
In this dream, he had never felt so tall, and weirdly dressed? It was a blurry dream, one that was hurting his eyes with how bright the lights were. In his hand was another and it was distant. The elevator. He should've just stayed inside the elevator. Did take the elevator? He took the stairs when they were chasing after the guy; did he? But the dream was weird and he still walked out. He would always walk out, and there would be the final end.
What did that mean? Bruno wasn't sure, but it was definitely not the end if Dad had to say anything about it.
In the dream, Bruno held onto a hand that was not his own, and his body moved with actions not of his own. It was dark, damp, and scary, surely scary for a ten year old. It was foreboding, but weird. This was a weird dream. This wasn't the hotel. Stone and brick were in place of plaster and plywood, weird.
He tilted his head, and out came a name. "Trish?"
Oh, where was she then? Where was she in this hypnotically odd dream? Bruno should've surely yelled, as the little girl could be far. Where was she, so he could give her back the thing tangled in his hands? It was dark, and through a thrawn neck did Bruno see that apparition staring. Light from the elevator loomed a shadow down the floor, green glinting somewhere there. The doors shut, and all that was left was that green.
"Trish?" was asked with openness, and nothing of value. Bruno was ten; this level of emotional complexity felt inappropriate.
His legs moved more without prompting. The green blinked and was gone. A crick in his neck formed. What was this dream? Surely, it was weird. A dream weirder than most, for it felt like something was skipped over.
Bruno looked down, and saw a dark splotch upon some area. It was dark. He could not see. Green reflected in his blue eyes, pain in his side and in his chest, and—
The screaming was a dreadful thing on his throat. It ripped through his chords and he bolted up. His hands groped his chest and he doubled over, a guttural cry. It hurt a lot. It hurt so much. This was weird and it felt so real, like he was standing there in the dark, curiosity piqued. The pain was like an apparition; when his clawing lessened, there was nothing on torso that he felt as a scar. It was the sheer emotional distress that had gotten to him that made him hurt.
He began flailing in this bed, the sheets tangling and suffocating him. It was like he was under wraps, like it was a second skin that was imposed on. His hand gripped the sidebar, but Cerniera Uomo broke it, leading to Bruno crashing to the floor. It was cold, an unreal feeling wracking him and he heaved distress. His hands were useless, unfurling into useless coils whilst he still struggled against nothing. He didn't feel aware of what was happening, just distressed the whole time he flailed, and it felt like it would never end.
"Bruno, tesoro. Bruno, s-stop that!" He flinched, his face now lifted up cradled and the view of his father now looking over him. His face was peeling, the show of bone to light but it didn't matter. Dad was actually holding him, even as Bruno felt part of his skin peel back. The right texture of the zipper flexed back, his hands in one piece, unharmed. "Buon. Mio tesoro, are you alright?"
The body of his father was worse off than him, falling off his bones like they were barely hanging on with literal bandied solutions on him. Bruno leaned in, his hands shaking but going for a hug. Dad always gave the best hugs; even on the floor, they were the best. Touch had been light the past week, in part due to their ghost friends affecting their hands. Wild Horses was very nice but unreliable, like how Cerniera Uomo was. Even with the kicks of nets and zippers, it was nice to hug after so long. The last time was when he woke up in the hospital after being shot and Dad had bolted to him as soon as he was awake.
"I'll take that as a no," his father said, and pulled Bruno closer into the hug, warm. "You gave me quite a scare. I know you're fine now, but I couldn't stop worrying about you and feeling awful that I couldn't do anything."
Bruno traced the outline of bandages around Dad, ones that were haphazardly pressing nets into bones, then pulled back his hands to feel under his own shirt. No injury or scar. It was like he was never shot or stabbed in the first place. It was ironic that the one who was hurt held no scars. He breathed, slow but scared. "What happened?"
He could hear his father sigh, pulling back and ruffling Bruno's hair. "A lot really. Today has been a very eventful day. I'd rather you just rest for now."
"U- um… is everyone okay?" he asked, his fingers tangling.
Dad shifted slightly, now moving to stand the both of them up. Bruno blinked, taking the opportunity to kick the bar he tore off under the hospital bed. Dad set his hands on Bruno's shoulders. "As okay as we can be in this situation. I'll tell you what happened once everyone's discharged, okay? Just… stay here with me okay?"
Dad was lonely again, wasn't he? Oh well! It wasn't like Bruno was going to deny him. With all the trouble Bruno's wounds caused them, he wasn't going to pass up hugging again. He leans into yet another hug, feeling the warmth but ignoring the uneasy wriggling of nets coil in on themselves. Dad was strong, real strong, but Bruno not so much; maybe in here (here being where Bruno would point to his heart) Bruno was stronger, more resilient, but he could always share that with his dad.
"Bruno," Dad suddenly said, the sound of ropes and tension in his voice, but held just under wraps. "I love you. Please stay safe for me, please?"
When Dad pleads like that, it was hard for Bruno to say no, and even then, this plea was something sensible anyway. "Of course! Love you too, Dad."
Words nor grace were not exactly a Bucciarati's strong suit; saying it blunt was normal. Bruno looked past his dad's silhouette, and even though Dad wasn't seeing it, he was happy to find two ghost friends taking joy with each other.
- Xwwvtsuc dgghk ygwk lzw addfwkk
Pannacotta was a novice when it came to his ghost friend. Violeta Scacchiera was sort of animalistic, feral, and a little bit scary, enough that Pannacotta didn't know what he did until recently. It made him extremely sick. Literally. Like he actually fell ill.
The past two days have been hazy, mostly him losing track of time when he slept. A few seconds would either feel like hours whereas he would blink and it was already night. It was oxymoronic, conflicting all the same. Pannacotta felt absolutely terrible the entire time, with most of his solace coming from Nonna and Narancia.
Violeta Scacchiera didn't talk besides the garbled noises of pain, but he seemed very sorry for what happened. For all the drooling and uncoordinated motor control, his friend should try to comfort him, if a bit awkward.
His eyelids were a bit stuck when opening them, but he felt considerably less terrible than earlier, which was vaguely in the morning. He remembered hearing a few yells, but it was so murky that he didn't really retain anything. His head was killing him and he felt unreasonably hot. When he fully opened his eyes, Nonna was standing over him, a little roughed up but not too worse for wear.
The back of her hand was to his forehead then flipped to her palm, followed by a sigh of relief. <It's gone down.>
<Mm, what happened?>
Nonna sighed, sitting down. Seemed like they were in a hospital, the rectangular tiles in the ceiling staring down at him. <You had a fever. A really high one. We had to take you to the hospital.>
He squirmed. <I don't feel… good.>
<Getting sick usually doesn't.>
Sitting up… sitting up felt too much. His attempt looked to be more of shaking in his spot than actually sitting up. It wasn't completely horrible. Pannacotta just felt extremely drained was all.
Actually… was it going away?
<Uh, well.> He sat up suddenly in a burst of energy and Pannacotta noticed how weird it was. No vertigo or anything. Not even some nausea to make his stomach lurch. <What? I feel… fine?>
<What?> Nonna sat up, feeling her palm over his forehead again. Warm but not overtly cold. <What the- Your fever's completely gone now? It was much higher a moment ago.>
It was like a switch flipped. One moment Pannacotta was burning up, a searing heat from his skin; the next has him completely fine, a bit sniffly but not a mess of groaning and stifling fever. Pannacotta tilted his head. Had he had the brainpower, he would've concluded that it was Violet Scacchiera's doing; he was the one to cause the illness. Maybe his ghost friend decided he was done feeling bad and lifted the illness from him. But Pannacotta did not have the brainpower for it, and instead stared curiously at his grandmother's mild panicking.
<Doctor. We need a d– no, a nurse! We need a nurse. Nurse!> Nonna yelled out the door.
One nurse visit later with a very caring one at that, told Pannacotta a few things. One, having a fever go away that quickly was not normal. He didn't need to be told that but that's what the nurse said. Two, they were going to hold him for another hour, maybe more depending on if this missing fever was something to be concerned about. And three, the staff was probably going to kick out the rest of their intrepid group because they were hogging the hall, so only family members like Nonna could stay longer. That last one was on them for having a team of fourteen plus a couple others being in this hospital, but Pannacotta was bummed about not seeing Narancia.
<Are we going back to the hotel?> he asked. <Are we going home?>
<Back to the town?>
Pannacotta nodded.
Nonna sighed, fidgeting with her clothes and sweaters. <There aren't many people we know that have to skill set to protect you all.>
Oh! <Like you and Kiss the Sky? Or Signor Paolo and Wild Horses? Or Signora Donatella and… um, what did she call hers?>
Nonna stared at him for a moment, narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. For a brief period, she seemed to process something, but her face made no change when she answered. <Yes. Exactly that. We have a lot of bad people to deal with, and they're very dangerous. Uh, do you want to go back to the town?>
<Mm, no.> Pannacotta picked at the skin around his nails. He was nervous, being out of commission with the weirdest fever does that to you. <Is there anyone you know that can watch us in the town? Everyone, all the grown-ups, they seemed lonely before this trip.>
<Ah, no…> Nonna drew out another sigh, leaning back in her chair. <Mia fragolina, you're too smart for your own good sometimes. Read us like an open book. Hah… Lot of work to do after this, I think.>
Nonna looked at him with a smile, knowing but still somewhat sad. <Do you think you can handle it?>
Pannacotta smiled really genuine, and inclines his head. <I have you, don't I? Narancia and Trish have their moms; Bruno, Guido, and Haruno have their dads; Leone has his uncle; and I have you. And we all have each other.>
Nonna huffed, gentle, affectionate. <Alright. You're a good kid, remember that.> Quiet. <I love you; don't forget that either.>
Pannacotta whispers low, but he takes amusement with it. <I won't.>
- Five Five Five! What a time to be alive!
If you ever wanted to feel an exorbitant amount of confusion, be Trish Una. There was a lot going on, everyone seeming to all converge into the lobby in varying states of… let's say tiredness. Mommy seemed to get everyone in order by just pushing them towards the same area, but a few had walked in from other rooms. Trish made her way to her friends but Donna Matematica wanted to comment on things a little bit.
"So many people…" Donna Matematica didn't talk often, mostly just when she and Trish were alone and sometimes with the other ghost friends. Trish didn't mind her keeping quiet, especially since Haruno's other ghost friend didn't want them spilling the secret, whatever it was. "This is probably the most your mother's had to handle."
"Has anyone seen Paolo and Nonna Cassata?"
"They're with the kids still in hospice, I think," Ms. Mela answered.
"Well, okay–" Mommy dusted off her clothes and looked across the room. Everyone was taking seats near each other or were behind seats to sit down in later. Trish made her way over there, but then got distracted with some of the boys.
"Guido!" Trish ran up to the other who was with Narancia. He looked puzzled. "Guido! What are you doing?"
Guido shrugged, his Sei Proiettili also shrugging with him. "That's what we're trying to find out. We found out Little Pilota can't talk and Narancia's not doing a good job at answering my questions."
"Do you know why my Mommy is pushing everyone around?"
Guido pointed at Narancia, who was looking increasingly angry. "Narancia said he said that he didn't say he knows, but that means he did say that he knows but also that he doesn't know because the guy that screwed over his mouth made him speak in reverse. I think. I think that's what Leone was trying to say."
Trish stared at him with prolonged disgust and confusion. "What?"
Guido shook his head. "Nevermind. Point is I think Narancia knows why your mom is pushing everyone around. Literally."
"I know! Signora Donatella is splitting everyone up and I know why," Narancia said, though he looked very annoyed at it and nearly yelling.
"So.., are you gonna tell us why?" Guido asked.
"I didn't tell you, I know! Argh! Smart, same alive enemy!" Okay, Narancia was being weird, not that that wasn't normal, but this was a different brand of weird.
It was then that the blonde guy that had chased them earlier— ie the one that had STABBED Bruno, the villain— turned around bent over the group. "Ah, Squalo told me I did something with my stand. Hang on." The man leaned in close to Narancia, before snapping his fingers and saying, "Talking Head!"
It seemed both her and the boys were not as forgiving to this villain as the adults were (in reality, the adults were just as unforgiving), since all of them glared at the guy. Trish put on her especially mean face while Guido stared with one that went with fury. Even Leone stared at the guy with big, wide eyes. The guy behind the blonde grabbed him and pulled the two away; Trish considered him leaving an achievement.
"That guy sucked." Narancia then gasped, then smiled really big. "Oh, it's gone! I can talk normal again! Mami! I can talk normal again!"
"What was that?" Haruno asked, wandering off from where his dad was sitting down. Narancia had run off to his mom to show the apparently great news. Haruno by contrast looked quietly pleased, if not for himself, something else.
Donna Matematica shrugged. "Sounded like a ghost friend issue. I don't know. I'm tired."
Haruno's second ghost friend leaned over, his hands cupped around his mouth. "I'm just glad Narancia's tongue wasn't bitten off."
Wait, second?
"Okay!" Mommy started off. Everyone took this as a cue to take seats. "So, it's been a long day, and I think by now we need an actual plan if we're actually taking down the mafia. We can't just be flying by the seat of our pants and just hoping we can defeat the next teenager they throw at us."
One guy who looked like he had an orange spider on his head spoke up. "I told Bucciarati about some of the other assassins you might encounter; still think he's with his kid right now though."
Mr. Alberto from near where Trish was sitting sighed. "I presume they also have stands that are equally as ridiculous?"
"One of them has a suit that makes Mr. Fashion Victim over there look like he belongs on Vogue."
Said fashion victim winced and Mommy in front of him rolled her eyes. "Ouch."
The noise of adults talking blurred into the background as Trish's mind wandered. She definitely heard bits and pieces, and perked up at the word chocolate. She was thoroughly disappointed that they were talking about someone named Chocolate. Moldy chocolate too, eugh. And meat. Like weird meat. Meat shaped like a toothbrush? Whatever. Trish decided to let her eyes wander all over until something really caught her attention.
"Hey, Haruno." The black haired boy didn't answer. "Haruno!"
"Um…"
"Hm?" Trish leaned in close while remaining seated. "What's wrong?"
"Can you… Can you call me Giorno please?" Haru— Giorno looked away. "And ask the other to do that too?"
"Sure, but why?" Ms. Mela called people names all the time, and Narancia did too. It wasn't any different from that. Right?
"I like it more than Haruno…" Giorno hid behind his frog plushie, but still looked at Trish with a nervousness fit for a new kid rather than a friend.
"What's up?" Guido asked.
"Haruno's now Giorno," Trish answers. "He wants to be called that."
"Wants to be called "that"?" Narancia, who apparently was done talking with his mom, suddenly joined in.
"Wants to be called— now Giorno– idiot." And also Leone joined in, which chased off Narancia to do Narancia things instead. "It's a nice– name."
Guido shrugged. "Okay then. Gotta tell Bruno and Pannacotta then."
"What about the grown-ups?" Trish quipped. Giorno was shy, so it was unlikely he was going to tell them like he did with her and the boys.
"Papa, um. Papa will tell," Giorno answered.
Oh. Well, that settled that debate. As for the grown-ups' debate, it seemed like they were still being boring, talking about moldy chocolate and dry wine. It was all stuff that Trish didn't really think was that important,but if Mommy was talking about it, it must've been something.
"So the kids get discharged, we go back to the hotel, hope and pray we don't get kicked out, rest for as long as we can, fight three more assa—"
Oh! Wait! There was something that was bothering Trish. She held her hand up high, stopping her mother from continuing on with her sentence. "Mommy! Shouldn't you recount the money we have so we have enough?"
Mommy made a noise into her hands that sounded like she was in pain, which made Mr. Rovino behind her look quite nervous. "Yes, Principessa, we should do that because there's fourteen people in this group and that many is expensive–"
"Y'know, I didn't notice that until you pointed it out, Donnie–"
"Oh fu- frick. Didn't we steal that—"
"It's legal money!" Mr. Alberto suddenly said. "It was from one of the Capos, but the one we fought has a good reputation. He almost never carries counterfeit. I think."
Mommy stared at the man for what seemed like ages, so much so that Trish furrowed her brow and pouted. Haruno's dad was kinda scary sometimes, but he could be really awkward! It was kinda nice though. Reminded her of Grandpa.
Mr. Cecil properly added in, "In any case, we gotta make sure we have enough to hold over as long as we can. We can't keep running on this stuff when we're busy, y'know… not being at our jobs."
"You guys don't have jobs?" a teenager with funny glasses asked.
"We aren't at our jobs. Honestly, after this whole mess, I'm quitting mine."
Mr. Rovino shrugged. "Not like you liked it anyway."
"Oh! Oh!" Narancia raised up his hand and Signora Mela let him. Trish was getting annoyed at how often Mommy was being interrupted. "If we're going shopping, can we get a pizza too?"
Narancia's mom shrugged when Mommy glanced at her. Mommy sighed, tired. "Okay fine. The kids get discharged, we go back to the hotel, hope and pray we don't get kicked out, check the money we have, backup Alberto's claim about the counterfeits, rest for as long as we can, buy a pizza, go to Rome—"
A teenager with the prettiest purple hair spoke up. "Wait, Miss Donatella– ow!"
Another teenager with funny glasses elbowed the other teenager in the ribs. "Melone!"
Mommy looked annoyed but Trish was pretty sure it was because everyone was throwing a lot at her. "What is it?"
The teenager, who apparently was named Melone, looked away. "Well, uh, didn't you agree to meet that mysterious guy we met on the computer in Rome? On Thursday night? Like this Thursday night? And you can't contact him to update him on all… this?"
Mommy looked very surprised and Trish could only cover her ears as her mom shouted a word that she was not allowed to say.
- But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
There were worse things Vinegar Doppio had woken up to. Honestly the last couple years had him facing the worst instead of…
Well, he was gone now. No point in dwelling on that.
Today he woke up to the ceiling of his hotel room, sweat on his face, the day still apparent. Something was… off, like it was the other day. He sat up, feeling a wave of nausea wash over and away from him. The curtains of the hotel were parted, making an annoying beam of light filter in. Standing up, he carefully trod his way to them, softly pulling them open but still flinching at the brightness. Oh.
The entire room was a mess.
"What did– ah… what did the Boss do while I was out?" Doppio pinched the bridge of his nose and fully turned around.
As stated before, the room was a mess. Doppio was messy, but he wasn't that messy. He knew he asked what the boss did, but even he knew the Boss wouldn't be like this. It was odd but he didn't question his statement. Papers were strewn around, the comforter of the bed was askew (what was surprising considering how tightly the maid made them), empty cabinets and drawers were slacked open, and his own luggage was poured out on the floor.
He sighed, beginning to get to work on the mess. It wasn't his but he was going to stay here until tomorrow to leave for Rome, so he was going to have to do so anyway. The Boss said that an old enemy was showing up there, and it was a good time to get the jump on him. Doppio didn't really mind, but if it eased the Boss's crippling paranoia, he'll do it. The Boss was always like that, and it was comforting all the same.
The luggage was finally all done, mostly shoved back in haphazardly except for a few of the Boss's clothes and a nostalgic sweater stashed into Doppio's handbag. He held his breath at the papers strewn around and opted to fix the bed first before he did that. He was worried about that nausea from the other day spiraling back and he didn't want to stop midway with his cleaning. With the bed made and now any caches put back into place, Doppio finally had to realize he needed to organize those papers.
"This'll be too much on you; I'm skipping over this."
"Wh- hey! Don't—!"
"What the? Hey! You can't just–!"
"Huh? Oh wow, I work fa–"
He blinked, suddenly finding the papers neatly stacked in his hands. He sighed, taking the topmost paper and sticking it to his ear. "What in… Really?"
"It's quick and easy and it's free. At least you won't have to look at that woman again."
Doppio set the papers down at the desk, pulling out a chair to sit down. "I guess but… I didn't hate her. She was nice."
"Too nice."
"Hey, c'mon. What would S–"
Dia– The Boss cut him off. "Can we not talk about him?"
"Yeah, sure…" Doppio mumbled. He slumped forward, his free hand at his hair. By now he noticed it was in a ponytail as opposed to his weird braid. "Look, I just… I dunno. It's been weird. You… you didn't do this did you?"
"Why would I? You know I'm not messy."
"Th- then… oh." A palm went to his mouth and he stood up straight. There was only one person so disorganized and so flummoxed that could make a mess like that. Someone so emotionally unstable that he and the Boss were his saving grace. Especially with such a useless stand of his. And angel and a devil for him, as the Boss put it. But, why would he come back to this? Why would he come back to them? He was long gone by now so it can't have been him.
I guess he'll have to leave that to tomorrow.
At least he won't be crying.