Notes: For this chapter, I only ask that you bear with me until the end and that you give me the benefit of the doubt. Most of what's going on in this chapter will be explained much later down the line; everything will be reconciled with what's known of canon up to Chapter 316 of the manga. I promise. The biggest thing, though, is that for the purposes of this fic, Giotto isn't the first one to have gone into Dying Will mode in the history of ever (but later, he'll be the first to go into Hyper Dying Will mode).
A big thank you to those who have reviewed and favorited and alerted so far, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story!
As soon as they were rested and Giotto had pulled on the pants and shoes he had taken from the Guinizelli mansion, the two boys made their way towards the nearby town of Racale.
"This is the town you were trying to get to before, wasn't it?" said G. "We're not going to the orphanage there, though. That'll be the first place the Medici Family looks for us. But it's big enough we can hide there for a little while. Plenty of lost kids run around the streets all the time, so it'll be a lot harder for the Medici to find us."
They reached the town well before dawn, and they quickly snaked between and behind the buildings lining the pebbled streets. Grown, ratty men stumbled home with half empty bottles in their hands, and many other men and women and children curled up along the streets with molding blankets draped over them. Giotto gaped at the scene around him; either Grandmama and Grandpa protected him well from the sights of the early morning, or Racale was in far more dire straits than his old home.
After G found an empty patch of alley he was satisfied with and ripped a couple of old and torn up sheets from a pile of trash, he said, "Racale was owned by my Family, but the Medici wanted it, too. Father knew they were going to attack us someday. I guess he just didn't think that they'd attack us tonight."
"Does what's in the box have anything to do with it?" asked Giotto.
"I don't know. Maybe."
Giotto stared as G did not let go of the box once as he laid out his blanket on the ground and settled on the ground.
"What's in it?"
"I don't know. I haven't had the chance to look yet." A beat. Then G grinned a devilish grin. "You want to take a look with me? It's not like we're going to get in trouble for it anymore."
Giotto shrugged and scooted next to G. He unlocked the latch and pushed the lid open. Bright red velvet lined the inner walls, and a pile of pointed, golden cylinders sat on top of the velvet. Giotto was in awe of the lavish display; G's family may not have been royalty, but they had lived with enough extravagance to have things this shiny.
Before he could ask G exactly what it was they were looking at, G scoffed and snapped the lid back shut.
"Bullets! To the moment he died he was always wasting my time. Bullets! And they're not even useful ones!"
He pulled the blanket over his head and curled up on the ground, turning his back on the box and grumbling words that Giotto thought children weren't supposed to use.
Not knowing any other way to react, Giotto only sighed with a soft smile and said, "Goodnight, G."
G mumbled something back, and Giotto curled up against the wall of the building with his own blanket. Before he could remember too much the gunshots and the screams and Auntie's lifeless body, he was fast asleep.
In the morning, G told Giotto to stay put and keep an eye on the "stupid, useless box" while he went to get some food. Left alone, Giotto leaned his back against the wall and stayed hidden behind the tall pile of trash G had taken their makeshift blankets from, staring at the pretty box in his lap. This was what the Medici were after. This was what they killed Auntie and G's father and everyone in the household for, and because of this Giotto and G still weren't safe.
Giotto felt ready to cry again, but he held it in. G was the one who lost everybody and everything he ever knew, and G did not cry. So, Giotto could be strong, too. Still, he wished Grandmama was here.
"I'm back," said G, running up to Giotto. He handed him a piece of bread. "This was the best I could do for now."
"That was quick," said Giotto. He took a bite. The bread was still warm. "So, what do we do now?"
"We need money," said G as he chewed. "The bullets might be useless, but they look like they're made out of some special metal. It's probably worth a lot of money. Or maybe it's not, and we just have to find some idiot willing to buy it off of us who's not Medici."
"But, then, wouldn't they go after them, too?"
G considered this for a moment. "Yes, they would. And they would still get their hands on the bullets in the end, wouldn't they? So that won't work. Well, I'm not too bad at picking pockets—"
"I don't think stealing is the answer, either, G."
"I'm not saying we should try to make a living off of it. Even though that's how Father started off." He snorted. "But then look how well that turned out for him. Well, I don't know. I'm not really good at anything, and adults don't take street performers seriously enough anyway, unless you're really good at something they won't laugh at us for."
Giotto blushed. "I'm… really not good at anything."
"Begging is out of the question. The Medici would find us a lot quicker. Plus, begging is the worst thing we could do for our pride. If nothing else, we have that and we will still have that when we die."
A thought crossed Giotto's mind. "Um, G? Didn't you take any money when we left your house?"
G froze for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. "I, uh, well. I just spent it all. On the bread. That's why we need more money. Bread's not cheap."
That didn't sound right, but Giotto had no desire to argue. He just smiled and said, "I'm sure we'll figure it out."
"Or! Maybe we can sell the bullets to a blacksmith! He should be able to melt it and make it something useful, and we'll have money, and the Medici will never get their hands on these worthless pieces of crap! Not to mention I'll be free of Father's orders forever. Everyone wins!"
"Or, you give the bullets to me before I beat you to death," said a calm, deep voice behind them.
Giotto turned and saw a tall, blonde-haired man standing in the alleyway. He had a scary look in his blue eyes, scarier than the Medici man in the Guinizelli kitchen, but his face wasn't twisted like that man's. He looked more apathetic than malicious. But he was dressed exactly the same as that man in the kitchen last night, and Giotto knew exactly what that meant.
"He's Medici!" he screeched, and he thought he heard G say the same.
The boys wasted no time in picking up the box and dashing out of the alley and into the main street, dodging the bustling shoppers and ducking through the merchants' stalls. Neither of them stopped until they reached a large fountain about five blocks away, their breakfast long forgotten behind them.
G glanced over his shoulders, and, panting, said, "Good, he's not behind us. I can't believe they found us already!"
"What do we do now?" asked Giotto. "If that was the safest place in the city, then we're not safe anywhere here."
G nodded. "You're right. Racale clearly isn't the best place for us to be. We have to get out of here. Today. The closest city is a three day walk though. We won't make it unless we solve the money problem. If I promise to pick the pockets of rich people instead of poor people, will you be more okay with that?"
"I still don't think stealing is the answer."
"That Medici just heard our plans to sell the bullets to a blacksmith. We can't go there. And you're right, we can't sell them either. For whatever reason, we can't let the Medici get their hands on the bullets, even if they are useless. I'm not about to let my Family die for nothing!"
Giotto was startled by the way G's voice rose and shook. His eyes watered up, and he clenched his fists. Now was the time to be strong for his friend.
"G, it's okay. We don't have to sell the bullets. If you want to, I guess stealing from the rich could be okay. Grandpa told me a story once about a man who did that, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. He wasn't a bad guy. He was a hero. So I think it's okay if you did that, too."
G stared at Giotto for a long moment, his face morphing from distraught to confusion to relief and then to his usual smirk.
"I know that legend. Except he gave to the needy and didn't use the money for himself, but I guess we're pretty needy now."
"But just this once to get us out of here. Once we get to the other city, we need to find a better way to make money."
"Yeah, okay. Just this once." He paused. "And earlier this morning. Kind of. I, um, didn't buy that bread we ate. I kind of stole it."
"G!"
"I was in a hurry! I didn't have time to think about grabbing any money. Just getting the box and finding you and getting out of there before they found us! And we needed to eat!"
Giotto could not argue with that. He, too, had forgotten the money Grandmama had left him in the haste to escape. It was still in the Guinizelli mansion, tucked underneath his bed, and going back to the mansion was not an option.
"Okay," he said. "You're right. But, really, no more after this."
"No more," G agreed. "Well, I better get to it. Can you hold on to the box? And I guess at this point you're better off staying on the move. Meet me back here at noon, and I'll have everything we need. If I'm not here at noon, don't wait for me. Save yourself."
"What? No!"
"If I'm not here at noon, that means the Medici found me, and I'm probably already dead." G gave a long look at Giotto. "But I won't assume the same for you, too. I'll try to find you, because they have the bullets and I'll need to get them back, and you'll probably be dead. And I'll do my best to avenge you."
Gray clouds gathered in the sky and a small wind picked up. Merchants and shoppers continued about their business as though the sun still shone brightly, but Giotto was pleased with the slight drop in temperature after spending the rest of the morning running to and fro about Racale. Unfortunately, that was all he could stand to be happy about with G's words resounding in his head over and over and leaving a foul taste in his mouth.
Giotto entered the town square, the center of activity in Racale, to take a peek at the tall clock tower. G told him that noon was when both the big arrow and the little arrow both pointed straight up. Now, the big arrow pointed straight down, and the small arrow was almost to the very top. Giotto had no idea how close to noon this was, but G promised to teach him how to read a clock once they reached the next town.
For all the ill words G spoke before, at least he sounded optimistic just that once before they parted ways.
But Giotto knew he had more time before he had to meet G, and he quickly vanished into the backstreets, clutching the box to his chest with his two hands. His feet ached, having not rested all morning, and he found a curb to take a short break.
Stupid G. Why did he think that being separated from each other would be a good idea? How did he think that the two would fare so well apart than together, especially with all that talk of what to do in case the other wasn't around when they were supposed to meet up again? Giotto scowled at the box in his lap, knowing that he would not do what G asked if G wasn't there at noon. If G wasn't there, Giotto would find him. Giotto would find him, and he would save him, and they would both get away and to the other town and not have to worry about the Medici ever again.
How dare G try to convince him to leave him for dead!
With his feet now rested, Giotto decided that it was time to get moving again. He needed to take another look at the clock, and then he needed to find another route. If only the box wasn't so big and so heavy, then this chore would not be so bad, Giotto thought. Plus, wouldn't the Medici recognize the box on sight? According to G, staying on the move should be enough to keep the Medici off track, but what if they left town and one of the Medici saw them carrying the box?
But G was smart, Giotto told himself. G was smart, and he probably already thought of that. Maybe he was getting a big bag, big enough for their food and their money and the box. Or maybe he was getting a small bag to fit the box inside. Or maybe…
Or maybe they could sell the box for more money, and get a bag to keep the bullets in. That way, if the Medici saw them leave town without the box, maybe they would not think that they were the two boys from the Guinizelli mansion, or maybe they would think that they hid the box somewhere in the city and leave the boys alone.
And if Giotto had a bag now, then running around wouldn't be so bad. He could get some money by selling the box, buy a small bag and hide the bullets in it, and then G definitely would not have to pick pockets anymore.
Grinning, Giotto stood to carry out this plan. A jeweler might be interested in a box like this and would have a lot of money to offer for it, and he saw one in the town square just a little while ago.
He turned to head back towards the town square, but he bumped into a big, black, and firm pair of legs before he could take more than a couple of steps. Giotto stumbled backwards, holding tight to the box so that he did not drop it, and glanced up to apologize to the man he had just run into. He froze when he saw that it was the same blonde-haired Medici man from earlier.
The Medici man raised an eyebrow.
"I spent all morning tracking down you and your friend," he said. "I don't like being outmaneuvered, little boy. I think I'll beat you to death for the inconvenience and then take those bullets away from you so I can be done with this boring assignment already."
Giotto backed away slowly, struggling to find his voice. When he did, he shouted, "No! This belongs to the Guinizelli Family! Not the Medici Family! I won't give them up, I won't!"
The Medici man blinked in astonishment, but Giotto did not wait to find out what he would do next. He turned on his heel and ran as fast and as far as he could go, zigzagging through the alleyways and backstreets to make extra sure that he lost him.
Slowing down, he turned around, making sure that he couldn't see the Medici man. The scary, blonde-haired man nowhere in sight, Giotto turned a corner to catch his breath in hiding, wondering how he could make it back to the town square to check the clock so that G wouldn't get into any trouble looking for the Medici Family to find him. It had been a while since they had parted, and he had a feeling that last time he checked the clock he did not have to wait much longer until noon, so he had to make it back quickly.
He groaned. Playing hide and seek with a criminal out to kill him did not sound like very much fun at all.
Then, a boyish yelp resounded around the corner from the backstreet, and Giotto knew that voice.
"G!" he breathed.
Giotto refused to believe the worst. Maybe G just tripped and fell. He may not be clumsy, but maybe he just didn't see where he was going.
That had to be what it was. It had to be, Giotto kept repeating to himself as he ran over to the source of the voice. Unfortunately, his initial instincts were too right.
A group of five burly, black-suited men had the boy cornered, and one of them held him up by his neck, a malicious sneer smeared across his face. Giotto noticed G's gun fallen to the ground underneath him, but the men had little interest in the weapon. Behind the group stood one man, lanky and dressed in much fancier clothes than the other, and another man was sprawled on the ground next to him, unmoving and blood flowing from his chest.
"Now, little Giovanni, you have one more chance to tell me where your little servant boy and the bullets are," said the man in fancier clothes.
"Go to hell!" G snarled as best as he could.
The Medici Family found G in the end, after all. G's words to Giotto before they parted zipped through his head, and Giotto clenched his fists. He did not know what he would do, but he was going to do it.
"How about a new proposition, then, Giovanni," said the man. "We'll kill you anyway. If you make us do this the hard way, your friend will die. If you tell us where we can find him, we'll consider letting him go free so long as he gives up the bullets willingly."
Giotto found an apple core by his feet, and he picked it up and threw it at the head of the leader. When it hit, Giotto took only an instant to rejoice at his aim before he realized exactly what he had done. The man turned around, as did the others, and Giotto could not figure out what to do next. Hide the bullets! Wait, he should have done that first.
What was he supposed to do?
"Ah, here we are, then." The man grinned wickedly. "Little boy, I do believe you have something that doesn't belong to you."
"It… it doesn't belong to you either!" said Giotto.
"Giotto, run!" G yelled, only to be punched in the stomach by the man holding him up.
Giotto cringed at the impact, but he held his ground. G would do the same for him. G had done the same for him back at the Guinizelli mansion. This was the least Giotto could do.
"I don't think you understand, little boy," said the man. "Both of your lives are in my hands now. I can decide whether or not you survive this encounter. And I warn you, not many survive an encounter with the Medici. But if you give me the bullets now, you'll both live."
"But it's not yours," said Giotto. "It's G's. It's the last thing his father gave him. You can't have it."
"And what good would that be if young Giovanni dies? If you make me take it from you, I will be forced to kill him right here and right now, and I will take it from your cold, dead hands." Giotto shivered. "Give it to me, or Giovanni dies, and so will you."
"Giotto!" G yelled again. "Don't worry about me. Get out of here now. Save yourself. And don't let them have the bullets."
The man shrugged. "Or you can do as your friend says and run away. Except then he will die, and we will track you down. There is only one course of action where you both will live."
Giotto stared between the man and G, hesitant. G was the only one who could actually do anything, and he could not do a thing right now. And though G said not to let the Medici have the bullets under any circumstances, there was no way around this situation. Either way, the Medici would get what they wanted. And G had saved his life twice already; Giotto still had to return the favor. This was the only way he could do that.
Trembling, Giotto set the box of bullets on the ground and gently pushed it towards the Medici man. He stood back up and he bit his lip.
"There," he said. "You can have them. Now let G go."
The man walked towards Giotto and bent down to pick up the box. Standing back up, he opened the lid, and a menacing smirk marked his face.
"Yes, yes, this is perfect," he said. "This is exactly what we wanted."
"So let G go," said Giotto, wondering why G was still dangling in midair.
The man pulled out his gun and loaded one of the bullets inside. "Do you know what kind of bullets these are, boys? They're special bullets, recently developed for exclusive use for the Guinizelli Family. With this, they were going to be unstoppable. I wonder what powers they have." And he pointed the gun at G.
"What—what are you doing?" Giotto shouted.
"Testing it. I don't feel like doing it on my own men, not when I have two very easy targets right here."
"But you promised!"
The man cackled. "We are not men of our word, little boy. And the Guinizelli heir needs to die. Don't worry. You'll get your turn. Unless you would rather go first?"
Giotto froze as the man turned the gun to him, and he barely heard G screaming as a loud bang filled his eardrums. He felt himself fall backwards, but he strangely felt no pain. No pain, only regret as he remembered Grandmama and her last words to him, and he remembered Auntie and how she protected him with little regard to her own safety, and he remembered G and everything he had done for him, and how Giotto had done little in return.
He could have at least saved him.
He should have at least saved him.
Something inside his chest began to burn furiously, and his eyes were hot not with tears, but with fury. Before he could begin to wonder if this was what death was like and before he could begin to try to comprehend what was happening to him, one thought and one thought only dominated his entire being.
Save G with my dying will!
Then Giotto had a vision of knocking the gun out of the Medici man's hand and then slamming a well-planted fist into the side of his head. He saw himself doing the same to each of the other men, one after the other with no stop to his movements, each of the Medici too shocked to react quickly enough to try to stop him. One by one they fell unconscious and toppled to the ground, and Giotto remained untouched.
The vision ended, and his chest and his eyes did not burn anymore. He stood on the other side of where he was before, and sprawled at his feet were all of the Medici men, eyes closed and unmoving. A trail of spilled bullets led to the box on the ground and on its side.
Giotto gaped at the scene in front of him. What happened?
"Gi—Giotto…" said G behind him weakly.
Giotto glanced over his shoulder and saw G sitting on the ground, unhurt.
"You're okay!" Giotto exclaimed. "But, what happened? Did you do this?"
"No," said G, shaking his head as he climbed to his feet. "No, Giotto. That was all you. Don't you remember?"
Giotto frowned and he looked back at the men on the ground. He did this? Wait, so that vision was not a vision, but what he had actually done? He did that? How?
A chilly wind brushed against Giotto's body, and he wrapped his arms around his body. Before he could comment on the cold, he noticed that he had not a single piece of cloth on him. He yelped and squatted to the ground, moving his arms around his legs and tucking his head into his chest. What happened to his clothes?
"So that's what those bullets do," said a voice that was not G's.
Giotto snapped his head up to see the blonde-haired Medici man from earlier walking towards them. G scrambled for his gun and jumped in front of Giotto, pointing it at the man.
"Don't come any closer!" he yelled.
The man stopped for a moment, and a strange smile crossed his face.
"I sincerely hope you didn't think to load your gun with those bullets," he said. "You know what the result would be. And looking at your gun, and the number of shells on the ground, I know you have no more bullets left."
G did not budge. Giotto had no idea what to do or what to say. Was it true? Were they just going to end up dying anyway? He drew his body in tighter. He did not want to die, and he especially did not want G to die.
"Do not underestimate us," said G finally. "It'll be the last thing you'll do."
"Spoken like a real Guinizelli. You're the last of them, aren't you? You and your friend. Or brother, maybe? I didn't think the elder Giovanni Guinizelli had another son."
G hesitated for a brief moment. "We're not Guinizelli. They're all dead."
"But you have the bullets they were developing."
"We're not Guinizelli. So leave us alone."
Giotto did not think that the Medici man would be convinced. He already knew who they were, and he was going to kill them for it. But to Giotto's surprise, the Medici man raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh really? Then who are you and why do you have the Guinizelli Family's bullets, and why are you so adamant on making sure the Medici Family doesn't get them?"
"We… we're Vongola!" said G, and Giotto was shocked that he remembered his last name. "We're the Vongola brothers, and that's none of your business!"
G darted forward, quickly gathered the bullets into the box, ran back to Giotto, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him through the alleys. Luckily, he kept Giotto's nakedness in mind, and he avoided the main street. Giotto glanced behind him, and he was surprised that the Medici man did not follow them. Then he nearly tripped over his own feet, and he did not look back again.
Somehow they managed to reach the other side of town without running into any of the Medici or any passerby. G found a huge, wooden crate and told Giotto to stay there while he went to go buy clothes, and he was back in no time at all. Fully clothed once more, Giotto and G considered their next move.
Or, they would have, but what had happened back with the Medici men finally sunk in with both of them, particularly G.
"You were so awesome, Giotto!" said G excitedly through chews of their lunch. "You had this weird, orange fire on your head, and you just punched the living hell out of all those guys!"
Giotto laughed uncertainly. "I… I did?"
G nodded, and he pulled the box of bullets onto his lap. "These bullets aren't useless after all! Old man, you weren't wasting my time this time! I wonder what they're made of. How exactly do they work?"
"G, I don't think it's a good idea to look at those bullets here," said Giotto. "Don't we have to leave? That Medici man is going to find us. He seems to be really good at that."
He stopped his excited rambling, and he set the box to the side.
"You're right. We really need to leave. But I don't think the next town over will do us any good. We need to go much farther than that."
"Maybe…" said Giotto slowly, and then he stopped. He wasn't so good at ideas, but G eagerly waited for him to continue. "Maybe we shouldn't head in the direction of where you were saying before? Maybe the Medici man overheard us."
"So where were you thinking?"
Giotto shrugged and considered his bread carefully for one long moment. Grandpa told a story about a land where the sun rose once. A place of beginnings, she said, and the place where destinies are born.
"East," said Giotto finally. "Far, far east."
Alaude watched as the two streetrats scurried off yet again. He had little interest in following them this time. The rest of his man had shown up, and they wasted no time in gathering up the beaten and unconscious. With the estranged Medici prince and all his elite now in custody, one dead, this hellishly boring assignment was finally over. Getting a hold of the Guinizelli bullets had only been a secondary objective, and the Vatican had no knowledge of the treasure to begin with. So long as the town's guards held up their end of the bargain, Alaude should have nothing else left to do.
"Sir," said the head guard. As Alaude cast his gaze on him, he bit his lip, seeming sheepish at his earlier jabs at Alaude's age and inexperience when he first came into Racale. "Sir. We have confirmed that these men are indeed Bernardo Medici and his six elite. The raid on the Medici villa was also a success, and we have obtained the objects you asked for."
Alaude only regarded him with a single nod. The guard awkwardly handed him a black box with golden lining. Alaude opened the box and peered inside. He frowned.
"Three of them are missing."
"We searched the house high and low, in every nook and cranny—"
Alaude narrowed his eyes at the guard. "My Italian must still be weak, so I'll try again. Three of them are missing."
"I—I guarantee you, sir, that these were the only rings in the house."
He held his scowl onto the guard, and then he sighed, turning on his heel to walk away from the scene.
"Fools," he muttered in his native French.
As the guards carried the Medici outcasts off, Alaude studied the four rings embedded in the purple lining of the box. He knew that the Racale guard had looked everywhere. They knew better than to half-ass an order from a papal endorsed agent; the other three were definitely elsewhere. How and why the Medici had gotten their hands on this, Alaude did not know or care. He just knew that these rings in the hands of any royal family or mafia was something that he could not allow to happen, just like he knew that those bullets could not fall in the wrong hands, either.
Alaude grinned as he remembered the raw power the little Guinizelli boy had displayed once shot with one of those bullets. At least this mission had one upside to it, in the end. He had not expected the snot-nosed brat to be more than that, and something told him that the bullets only drew out the boy's potential.
The bullets would be safe with the two boys, Alaude knew, and even if they were not, Alaude could not shake the feeling that he had not seen the last of them.
"Vongola, huh…"