Chapter Text
“Stand Users attract other Stand Users.”
It’s a saying Trish knows all too well. A phrase practically ingrained in her head. Bucciarati had made sure of that the moment she had gotten her stand.
It runs deeper than just a saying though– she’s actively lived through it; seeing as that week of hell had been spent with multiple Stand Users coming after her and the team. Therefore, it’s not like she treads lightly when it comes to this topic. She learned how this would all go and made as much peace with the situation as she could, as it was ultimately just something she would have to accept, regardless.
As such, it wasn’t like she was totally unprepared, but she just didn’t expect to be in a Stand fight in the middle of something so mundane as coming back from grocery shopping. The battlefield actively made sense, but a sidewalk after she walked out of a shop? Admittedly, she did not see that making sense in her mind– yet here she is.
Limping up the pavement leading up to the house, she carefully picks out the tiny glass shards in her hair. A Stand using glass manipulation was overall interesting but more so aggravating considering the damages that were dealt.
While Trish supposes she had in the end won– which she guess counts as something– did she, really? Seeing as the enemy Stand User gave zero information after being subdued and even managed to pull one last trick from up their sleeve to disappear. Combine that with the fact she certainly hadn’t come out of the fight unscathed– she’s sure anyone from a mile away can see that considering she looks and feels like she got hit by a car– and the doubt creeps in.
The only real upside to this all is that ultimately she doesn’t have to sneak into the house and can just walk in with no questions asked, nor have to hide the multiple injuries because of the team being out on a mission she was exempt from.
Though, of course, that’s a hope that’s quickly extinguished when she notices the lower half of the house lights on. It’s only then that she remembers Abbacchio had stayed back when he had been dealing with the pain from where he had been injured last spring and ultimately deciding to stay back to not be legality on the field.
“Oh, God dammit.” A strangled curse leaves her as she realizes she’ll have to play this cool and sneak in after all. It not only makes things harder but turns an already frustrating day even more shitter. Trish almost feels like screaming or banging her head into the wall.
Taking a deep breath to try to settle her nerves and frustrations, she quietly cracks open the door, not wanting to waste any more time lingering on the porch.
Trish slips in silently, closing the door gently behind her. She lingers in the entryway, straining her ears to any sounds of Abbacchio's whereabouts.
It’s quiet.
For a split second Trish wonders if maybe he’s asleep– after all, naps aren’t uncommon on days like these. She lingers slightly longer, though the house stays silent. With a sigh of relief, she assumes she’s in the clear. The rest is simple now. All she needs to do is get up the stairs, grab a first aid kit, and deal with the injuries herself. It shouldn’t be too hard. Moving towards the stairs, she keeps her steps light, though she only gets up a few before her luck predictably runs out–
“What the fuck?”
Trish startles, her head whirling in the direction of the voice. Coming from the back porch, Abbacchio had made his way down the hallway in her direction, due to the layout, it hadn’t taken him long to spot her on the stairs. The two engage in a staring contest, Trish going tense and feeling as if she lost her voice– unable to come up with a plausible excuse.
Leone stares wide-eyed, seeing just how bloody and beat Trish is; deep cuts and gashes line her body, marking a good portion of it. Glass is still embedded in some of the wounds, along with sticking to her hair and clothes, not to mention the countless bruises already formed from the fight.
While his mind reels, he’s started putting the puzzle pieces together mentally, already pretty sure of what has happened. As one can imagine, Stand Users’ attacks are not uncommon for a group like theirs, though Leone wonders why Trish was the specific target, a concern he’ll have to bring up to Giorno and Bruno once they get back.
Walking closer to the stairs, Abbacchio gently pulls her off the steps when he sees how close to bolting she is.
“Wait in the living room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He says as he spins her in the direction of the mentioned room, waiting till she enters before he strides back down the hall into the kitchen for the first aid kit.
Trish walks slowly into the living room. Sitting on the couch, she notices the TV paused on a soap opera she commonly sees Abbacchio watching. Staring at the frozen screen, she waits in tense silence by herself, her leg rapidly bouncing up and down as the adrenaline leaves her body. She almost feels ready to crash, but she forces herself to stay awake. She jolts when she sees Abbacchio enter the room out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s just me,” Leone reassures quietly. Trish nods in response, not taking her eyes away from the screen.
The man sits beside her, setting up the kit on the coffee table in front of them. Grabbing the tweezers from the kit along with a cotton ball he soaks with the disinfectant, he raises his eyebrow in silent question– Trish nodding again in response.
“It’s gonna sting, but I’ll try to make it quick.”
Reaching over, Abbacchio begins to pull the pieces of glass out as carefully as he can. Trish tries not to flinch too much. It’s silent between them as Leone patches up Trish, the younger trying to delay the inevitable conversation sure to happen.
The gentle and overall thoughtful actions confuse Trish if she’s being honest. While it’s a simple act altogether, she had simply never expected Abbacchio to act soft towards anyone– barring Bucciarati– in this house, though it’s a frequent occurrence. It always left her mind reeling, as it was a look she would never have thought possible from the man. She had seen how snippy Abbacchio was while they were on the run; she had seen how hostile he was towards Giorno, how annoyed Narancia and Mista made him, and overall how he kept his distance– being stand-offish.
Trish had thought the living situation would be tense when she had decided to stay, only to see that what she thought of Abbacchio had mostly just been a cover. Behind closed doors, she saw another side of him. Sure, he kept his moody attitude, but it was different– it was softer, Abbacchio showed slightly more vulnerability in the presence of only them. Seeing how no one but her and Giorno were taken by surprise, she guesses this was the known norm.
Rolling the last of the bandages on her arms and hands, multiple gauze patches taped on her leg, Leone starts to put everything back. Trish leans back into the couch, desperately praying that maybe– just maybe Abbacchio will let this go but she’s learning she’s not getting anything she wishes for today.
“You want to talk about it?” Leone breaks the silence, even though he has a general outline he wants to see if Trish has anything to add for him to tell Giorno and Bruno. However, there’s something else he wants to ask as well, considering what happened this morning.
“Enemy Stand, they didn’t say shit, got away.” She keeps it simple. Leone hums, leaning back on the couch himself.
“That all?”
Trish turns, giving a glare “What’s more to say?” she questions heatedly.
Leone clicks his tongue, thinking this through and honestly wondering if this is the best time to bring this up, but he senses something deeper, and while he’s not the one to usually push the teens to talk, he doesn’t want this to brew any longer than it already has. He decides to stop beating around the bush,
“Well, you snapped at everyone this morning before ripping the shopping list out of Mista’s hand and storming out. Not to mention you ignored all of Bruno’s calls.”
“So?”
Leone raises an eyebrow at the tone. “All I’m saying is there seems to be something else going on. You’re free to talk about it, you know?”
Trish laughs cynically, rolling her eyes. This is absolutely ridiculous.
“Why do you care, huh? It’s not like I’m actually a part of this team.”
Leone snorts, which only makes Trish glare further. “Come on, you don’t actually believe that, do you?” He asks, believing she’s just trying to avoid the conversation. The silence is piercing in the room. “Holy shit, you do believe that.” He realizes the root of the problem. He can’t help but mumble under his breath, “God damn, why do I always get these conversations?”
Trish stands up, wondering if it’s morally right for her to punch him, “Dick.”
It’s true though. She doesn’t believe she’s a member of the team, much less viewed as a family member like the others view each other. Though, why would she be? Simply speaking Trish knows that if they weren’t tasked to protect her, if she weren’t the former boss’s daughter, if she weren’t a part– and even the partial reason– for their betrayal, they wouldn’t have spared a glance in her direction. The only reason she believes they let her stay is out of simple pity, knowing she has nowhere to go, so they just put up with it.
It’s something she had thought about after overhearing an ill-directed comment made by a Capo at their last meeting– an already brewing insecurity that Trish was having worsened in a span of a second– and it actively made sense in her head and she wonders why Abbacchio acts shocked, if it makes sense to her it should have been something they had already had thoughts about.
She had been intent on keeping it to herself, though now it was out in the open. She doesn’t even know what made her snap this morning. Maybe it was the way she had stood in the doorway of the dining room, observing everyone; how they laughed with one another like a genuine family, how she could easily be cut from that picture-perfect moment. So when Bucciarati had greeted her warmly upon noticing her, she couldn’t find it in herself to hold anything back.
She doesn’t remember all of what she said, only that it ended with her storming past Mista, yelling a heated ‘Fuck off.’ before slamming the door close. She had even gone as far as turning off her phone to ignore Bucciarati’s concerned calls and texts.
Trish storms her way past again, intent on just going up to her room and ending this analysis about to turn interrogating or joke session. A hand on her wrist gets her to stop, Abbacchio once again pulling her gently back to sit on the couch.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, sincerity showing through his voice. Trish only looks away. “You know that’s not true, right? You-”
“Bullshit!” Trish yells, overwhelmed and frustrated with this whole day and reaching another boiling point. “Don’t act like it’s not true! You guys would be just the same without me. It’s not like I even contribute much. The only reason I’m here is out of pity. You can drop the act now.”
“Trish,” Leone calls out the self-deprecating talk sternly. “None of those things are remotely true. Don’t put words in our mouths.”
Trish only rolled her eyes, sinking back into the couch. Of course, he would say that.
Abbacchio carries on though,
“Look at us any way you want; family, friends, team, whatever it is, you’re always a part of it. You’re not here out of pity, you’re here because we wanted you to stay and offered you to solely because we care about you. If we didn’t want you here, we wouldn’t have made the offer in the first place, but that’s not the case– never was. Did you forget who helped set up your room?”
She remembers.
While Bucciarati had still been in the hospital, he had been insistent that Trish get herself whatever she had wanted when setting up her room– not wanting her to feel like a guest. It had confused Trish then, and it still confuses her now– she hadn’t wanted to believe it was genuine lest it be pulled away from her. However, even though she tried to ignore the man’s persistence, Narancia and Abbacchio had taken it into their own hands, dragging her out of the bland room to go shopping once they had recovered.
It’s a basic example Abbacchio has given, but it meant more beneath the simple question.
Begrudingly, Trish concedes with the logical sense given. Instead, her mind switches tactics.
“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m not just a guest. That doesn’t mean I contribute anything to the team besides freeloading. I didn’t even get the Stand User from today! They fucking got away! What does that say about me?”
Abbacchio actually laughs.
“So? One person got away. Do you think that’s never happened to anyone else? ‘Cause it has a lot, it’s part of the job and something we’ll settle later. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt worse.” He says genuinely, which makes Trish turn back away with a pain in her chest.
“Don’t sell yourself and Spice Girl short on something like this. Did you forget how you saved our asses on the plane? Without you, we wouldn’t have made it. It’s not even just about last April. Missions in general you have time and time again shown off your ability. Even battlefield aside, if it’s not Fugo, it’s you taking meeting notes; I know Bucciarati and Giorno are grateful for how much detail you put in and I know Fugo appreciates the help– the kid may be an overachiever, but he can burn out pretty quick.”
Trish sputters, not liking how easily her arguments are getting torn down. She almost screams when Abbacchio continues on.
“You contribute more than enough, and even if you didn’t do any of this, you would still be a part of us. Everyone here loves your presence– yes, even me, don’t give me that look. Mista looks at you and Giorno as his best friends, hell, maybe as his little siblings, Giorno’s just the same. The three of you are practically your own group. Narancia had been so excited to get to know you more when you decided to stay, even asked about and watched me apply makeup so he would have something to talk to you about,” He smiles softly to himself, “And while Fugo may feel distant, it’s only because he feels guilty about staying behind on the dock. He cares just the same and wants to get to know you. He’s just trying to work through the guilt.”
He goes to grab the tea sitting on the end table, taking a sip as he thinks his next words through, wondering how much more he wants to say. Looking over, he can still see the slight doubt in Trish’s expression, so he continues on.
“Bucciarati looks at you like his only daughter, and if I’m being honest…” He takes a breath, pushing through his pride for the sake of the one beside him, “We both look at you all as something similar to our kids. It’s weird, but it’s the dynamic that’s formed over the years and I think everyone would say, in one way or another, they wouldn’t trade it. I may come off colder than Bucciarati does, but I’m here just the same.”
He means it. While he’s still actively working through the cycle of fucked up feelings, he has going for him– he tries his best to be a presence similar to Bruno to not only prevent his partner from burning out from taking the brunt of it all but to be another person in their corner. It may make him look soft in the end, but behind closed doors with his team, it’s a look he considers he doesn’t mind much, especially after his brush with death last spring.
The room goes quiet after that. Trish’s mind reels at all the words said. In a way, Abbacchio was right. The words were nothing but logical reasoning and caring intentions and admittedly; it gets through. She feels stupid.
“I’m–” She starts, choking briefly on the words, “I’m sorry, I just…” The sentence fades out as she searches for words she can’t reach.
“Don’t apologize. We all have our moments of doubt. They don’t need to be built on logic. You’re not the first to feel like this. Narancia had been excited to join, knowing he had people who actually cared about him, but he started drawing away, thinking he read the cues wrong, especially as he was still getting the ropes of everything and messing up.”
It had taken a midnight bus ride to talk Narancia down from the doubts plaguing him– a bag packed by his feet, his phone shut off to avoid Bruno’s worried calls and Fugo’s angry ones, even though he knew he couldn’t leave from the life he choose he had no care of the consequences, his expression enraged when Leone had tracked him down with Moody Blues.
The then 15-year-old spitting venom to try to get Abbacchio to leave him alone. However, his eyes were a dead giveaway to the insecurity and grief he was feeling. It took hours, but eventually, Leone walked back into the apartment with a sleeping Narancia on his back, grumbling the entire way, but relieved the night didn’t take a turn for the worst.
“Mista was closed off for a while, never knowing where he fit in. It took time for him to get used to everyone and find his own footing, though I guess you can never tell.”
It’s probably surprising for anyone to hear seeing how outgoing Mista is, but for some time after his recruiting, Mista had only really talked to them when it was directly job-related. Leone would have found it conceited if it wasn’t making him feel off like that wasn’t how the kid truly was.
Watching him closely, he could see that Mista just didn’t know where to fit in with the already established dynamic, instead going into protective mode and simply closing himself off. Leone hadn’t been the only one to notice, seeing as Bruno would often try to get Mista to join them in moments when they had downtime. Eventually, the two older men had broken down the walls and Mista had integrated himself more into the group, to the point you would have never thought he had doubts.
“I don’t know how Fugo was. He was here before me, but I’m sure there may have been similar thoughts and I even see similar cues in Giorno.”
He doesn’t bring himself up. It was a whirlwind of emotions after he had been recruited — some he’s still working through. It had been bizarre adjusting but strangely; he had felt at ease with Bruno even if the two barely knew each other.
Trish lets out a hum, her head feeling like it’s gonna explode with everything said and how similar the others felt. It was never something she would have thought. In some ways, it helps further, though she feels even more bad for what she had done this morning. She starts to feel herself tear up, thinking back at the hurt and shock on everyone’s face, especially Bucciarati’s.
She scoots closer to Abbacchio, tucking herself under his arm. The man tenses for a split second but holds her close.
“I was mean this morning.” She whispers.
Leone brushes her hair back gently. “Maybe, but you’re also just a teenager. It’s normal. It’s a rough time, especially when there are deeper feelings involved. Do you know how many fights I got into with my parents when I was your age? Regardless, they never took it personally, and they were always there when I cooled off. We’ll be just the same.”
The grace almost makes the guilt worse, but she doesn’t argue further.
“Thank you.” She says softly. Leone nods, taking another sip from his tea as he washes away the nerves that appear from being vulnerable.
“Anytime.”
A little while later, Leone untangles himself from the embrace. Reaching over, Leone grabs the first aid kit, stalking out of the room to put it back.
On his way back he pauses just outside the downstairs bathroom, glancing in he spots a certain something. Walking in, he grabs the basket sitting on the counter and makes his way back into the living room.
“Here.” He places the basket between them. “Pick what face mask and nail polish you want.” He says, Trish glancing over.
She almost wants to laugh when she sees the spa day basket she had set up for her, Mista, and Giorno. She covers her mouth, though Abbacchio notices, and raises an eyebrow in amusement.
“Don’t act so surprised. I know you see me do my own nails.”
“It’s not that! I just didn’t think you would be the type to do spa days with anyone that seemed way too light-hearted for you.” She giggles, and Leone can only roll his eyes.
“I don’t, but I know you do.” He says simply. Trish pauses, eyes wide at the action and attention.
Though she shouldn’t be.
Thinking back, she realizes that this wasn’t the first time that Abbacchio has done something like this. She remembers last spring. She remembered how she had locked herself into her new room, finally having the time and safety to grieve everything– her mother, the idea of her father she had since she was young, the awful actions he had done, her old life, everything she could think of in her despair.
While she had locked everyone out, it never deterred them. The main example she thinks back to is how Narancia would leave items outside the door, how he would talk to her through the door trying to explain he knew what she was going through but always getting choked up when he tried to speak of his mother, never able to continue, and it had been painful for Trish to listen to.
It had been because of these actions that Abbacchio had noticed and joined in. While Trish had tuned everyone out for her own sanity, the words had still broken through from the man, always quick and short in sentiment. Something mundane, like the weather, or something he knew she would like. And then there were the words of help.
“I’m here if you need to talk, kid.”
Simple. Though they held so much sincerity and understanding inside. The words were always repeated, even though he was given nothing but silence on the other side.
Trish realizes the man had been paying attention from the start, that he had always noticed.
“Kid?”
She jolts from her thoughts, not knowing how to voice them all out loud, so, for now, she keeps them to herself. Nodding that she heard, she focuses back on the basket, grabbing a few bottles of nail polish and a face mask. Abbacchio doing the same.
Facemasks on, Leone leans over to grab the remote on the table. Unpausing the soap opera, he opens one of the bottles Trish picked out. Swiping the light pink polish across the nail, Leone listens intently as Trish murmurs the details she wants. The TV and the light talking create a peaceful ambiance between the two.