"Hey look…" Narancia's voice cut through Mista's thoughts as he was carefully undoing the lock on the car door, almost causing him to push the wrong way and set off the car alarm. Before he got the chance to yell at Narancia for it, the frantic words of, "What's going on over there?!" and a shaking finger pointing towards where Giorno was had Mista dropping his tools and breaking into a sprint.

He could see what had made Narancia so worried: smoke was billowing over the top of the wall that surrounded the parking lot, flames licking the edges and casting dark shadows across Giorno's figure, who stood in front of the flaming wreckage holding the turtle.

"Oi, Giorno!"

The blond turned to look at Mista, his hair lit aglow by the fire. He looked icily calm for someone who was spattered with- oh fuck, was that blood?!

Mista yanked his gun out, looking around wildly as he vaulted the wall. Satisfied that there was no one in the immediate vicinity, he shoved the gun down his pants and began searching Giorno for the source of all that blood. He could hear the others running after him, but all his attention was on the blond.

"Where're you hurt?!"

Giorno grabbed Mista's roving hands and held them up to his chest, looking him directly in the eye as he said, "Calm down, Mista. I'm perfectly alright."

"You sure as hell don't look it! That's so much red, man!"

"Is red not my color?"

"You-" Mista took a sharp inhale and allowed the smirk to cross his face as he stepped back to scratch the back of his head. "I guess if you can crack shit jokes like that, you must be okay."

"What the fuck, you two?!" Fugo's angry voice drew both of them back to the others, who were now reaching them as well with Narancia bringing up the rear and clambering over the wall. "What the hell happened?!"

"There was an enemy Stand," Giorno explained, gesturing behind him. "As you can see, I took care of it."

"Yeah? Who's to say this isn't because of you, hah, Giovanna?" Abbacchio growled, pale hand winding in Giorno's collar and yanking the smaller boy forwards. "You sure this isn't your whole fucking plan, to get us separated and make off with Trish yourself?!"

"That isn't-"

Abbacchio didn't let Giorno finish whatever he was going to argue, shaking him roughly as he yelled, "Isn't what, asshole?!"

"Abbacchio, let him go."

"You shut the fuck up, Mista! Just because you wanna fuck him doesn't mean he's not a fucking traitor!"

"I said," Mista growled, reaching down to pull his gun back out and level it with Abbacchio's head, "Let him go."

"Cut it out, guys!" Narancia darted forwards to try to get between the two furious men, who both were blatantly ignoring him.

Abbacchio's lip curled as he said, "Or what, you fucking coward?" and Mista swallowed thickly as he actively debated the pros and cons of just shooting the damn prick already but he didn't even get to decide because Fugo had apparently been the only one to have a reasonable reaction. He had gone for the turtle.

"Enough, both of you!" Bucciarati's harsh voice cut through the tense silence and Mista swivelled to see him standing there, arms crossed over his chest and a furious look in his ice blue eyes. Fugo stood a step behind him, holding the turtle and glaring at all of them.

"Bucciarati, he-"

"I don't want to hear it, Leone." Abbacchio stopped mid-sentence and scowled, mouth opening to say something else before thinking better of it. He scoffed angrily but let go of Giorno and held his hands up, stepping back to glare daggers at both of them.

Mista grabbed Giorno's shoulders and shoved the blond behind him, lowering his gun but keeping it out just in case. In reality, he knew he wouldn't have actually used it, not unless Abbacchio had tried something, but having it out and in his hand just felt reassuring.

"I'm ashamed of both of you." Bucciarati was clearly preparing for a lecture and Mista groaned inwardly but decided he'd take it like a man. "Leone, I believe we've had this discussion already, but Giorno is one of us now. Questioning him is the same as questioning me- or do you not trust my judgement of character?" Abbacchio scowled but shook his head. "And Mista. Perhaps I haven't made this clear enough, but you should not, under any circumstances, pull a gun on your own comrades. Am I understood?"

Mista nodded and after a piercing stare from Bucciarati, Abbacchio finally shrugged angrily. Knowing that was the best he'd get, Bucciarati sighed and shook his head. "We all have enough on our plate without inner conflict. Restrain yourselves, the lot of you. Now then, Giorno, what exactly happened?"

Giorno motioned for Bucciarati to join him off to the side so he could tell him quietly without interruptions, shooting a calculating look at Abbacchio as he walked a few meters away. The white-haired man was making a beeline for the turtle and disappeared inside before Fugo could even set Coco Jumbo down.

"Mista, what the fuck were you doing?!" Narancia was looking up at him in alarm, a clear expression of disbelief on his face.

"I'd like to know that as well," Fugo agreed as he plodded over to join them while Giorno debriefed Bucciarati. "What exactly were you thinking?"

"I just- I was worried, 's all." It was a stupid excuse, but Mista couldn't really give them any other explanation. It was just sort of a gut instinct at this point; when he or something he cared about was threatened, he went for the gun.

"So were we but you didn't see us yanking weapons out."

"Yeah, well I also didn't see you two trying to stop Abbacchio."

Fugo shrugged as he said, "For all we know, he has a point."

"You know he doesn't!" Mista countered at the same time as Narancia cried, "No way! Giorno gave me his cola when mine spilt, a bad guy would never do that!" 'Sound logic,' Mista agreed with a nod of his head.

"I don't know what I know. And if you had even just one single brain cell, you would think the same thing. It's not my fault you're both idiots." Fugo walked away before Mista had the chance to ask what the fuck he meant and tossed them the turtle as he disappeared inside. Catching it with ease, Mista thudded over to the wall to fall onto it with a heavy sigh.

"…Are you okay?" Narancia sounded genuinely concerned, so Mista glanced up and flashed him a grin.

"I'm fine, little man. You know me, nothing rattles the Mi-star!" Narancia had been the one to come up with the nickname, and while Mista refused to let him call him that in public, when it was just the two of them, it was allowed. That, and Giorno's whole Gang-Star thing was making him rethink its initial lameness.

At the use of his own creation, Narancia grinned. "Still," he said with a sigh as he plopped down next to Mista. "Giorno ain't weak, right? He coulda taken care of it."

"I know, I just… wanted to stick up for 'im. Like I woulda if it was you."

"Liar! You're the one who told Abbacchio that I was the one who ate the last of his bomboloni! I couldn't walk right for a week, he kicked my ass so hard!"

"Yeah but you were asking for that, dipshit," Mista answered with a scoff. "We've all dealt with a pissed Abba after stealin' his food."

"Not Bucciarati."

"Bucciarati's special."

"I wish I was special."

"You are. Special in the head."

"Asshole!" Mista laughed as Narancia's fist swung into his side, the breath only half getting knocked out of him since Nara wasn't using his full strength. He took it as the gift it was: a I-hope-you-cheer-up-so-I'll-distract-you type of gift. Or at least, maybe that's what it was? This was Narancia after all, he could've already forgotten everything that just happened. He was a fucking idiot.

Mista sighed. They all were, really.