A/N: For anyone starting here, the most recent chapter, please go back and read the Battaglia chapters! I was a Fool and forgot to upload them lmao, it has the details of the fights between Fugo and Mista, and Fugo and Castagna. Sorry again for not noticing sooner!


Disposing of the plane had involved far too much work in Mista's opinion; why couldn't they just blow it up? But nooooo, they just had to land it out in the damn ocean to be sure it sank and got rid of all the evidence of the crop duster, which meant there had been a lot of scrambling to get out of the damn thing before they drowned, and then they had to swim to shore and now even Mista thought he smelled. Smelled salty and gross, felt all sticky, ruined his cashmere sweater, boots were still waterlogged, but hey, it could be worse he supposed. He could be Fugo.

To put it simply, life threatening stab wounds and sea water and swimming for twenty minutes straight did not mix. At all. Fugo had practically had to be dragged ashore by Bucciarati and Mista after barely making it halfway there. Poor guy looked like a wet rat - an albino one that was gonna die of hypothermia any second. Mista was pretty sure that no amount of nerves would cause your whole body to shiver and shake like that but no way was he gonna say anything about it.

Bucciarati had though, of course. Even came back with a jacket for Fugo when he arrived with the most recent in the ever-increasing list of stolen cars they were accumulating, along with some groceries that Mista had no idea how he'd gotten the money for. The blond had scowled but accepted the fluffy coat anyway and Mista had caught him looking pleased with it when he thought their backs were turned.

Aside from that, Fugo didn't want help. And Mista could respect that. After everything that had happened in the past day and a half, it made sense that Fugo would wanna start reestablishing himself, not come across as weak. Mista didn't think it mattered much, personally, Fugo was still a kid after all. But he also understood the foolish pride kids had too, so.

Bucciarati had explained that there was a safehouse on Sardegnia, along the western coast and half-obscured by forest. He'd said that the drive there wouldn't take too long, around two hours at most, and that they could try to rest while he drove them. Mista had offered to drive but Bucciarati had shot him a look and, well, you couldn't really talk back to that.

"How do you know they'll be there?" Mista had asked as they piled into the car.

Bucciarati had spared him a brief glance before starting up the engine, and just when Mista was about to decide that he wasn't gonna answer, Bucciarati had spoken.

"I just know," he'd replied. "Almost a year and a half ago, I… well, Abbacchio and I had been talking and we… we got a small cottage. On the shoreline of Sardegnia. It was silly, I know, but it was a special occasion and… it's ours. Our house."

What was he supposed to say to that? Nothing, Mista figured, was the right answer, so he'd just nodded and turned to look out the window. There was a lot to unpack in those few sentences and Mista didn't think Bucciarati would appreciate him trying to do it aloud.

But that they'd gotten a house together… that confirmed it for Mista. That Bucciarati wanted out, no matter how much he denied it. A glance behind them at Fugo's expression told him that he was thinking the same thing. Not that it mattered; the real issue was how they could help.

And how they'd all have to stay alive long enough to be able to.


Mista could barely restrain himself from tapping noisily against the window pane of the passenger seat after being snapped at by Fugo several times already. He couldn't help it, he was anxious. They were nearly there and he desperately wanted to see the others and reassure them that they were all still alive and maybe reassure Giorno of some other things too- perfectly normal, PG things he told himself.

"We're here," Bucciarati murmured, some of his first words since he'd explained why they were going there in the first place.

Mista twisted out the window to see the car fast approaching a small two-story cottage covered in worn, white paint with ivy creeping up the sides. At least, he thought it was ivy. It was hard to tell when it was so dark outside. It was isolated, far away from the closest town they'd passed through half an hour ago, and with the tall trees on the edge of the property and the sheer cliff face to the other side, Mista could see how it would be a safe place to go. No one could approach undetected.

And the soft roar of an engine caught his attention and he looked up to see that far above them, a small plane was circling the house. Aerosmith.

Fugo must've seen it too because as soon as the car stopped, he was desperately yanking on the door handle, trying to pry it open with brute force even though the lock wouldn't pop until he stopped pulling.

Mista jumped out of the car and ran around to Fugo's side, manually unlocking it through the window before the blond pulled the damn handle off its hinges. Stumbling out of the side, Fugo grasped at his arm to steady himself as he looked towards the house with wide, seeking eyes.

A figure moved in the darkness, thrusting open the front door and charging onto the patio, the small radar over his right eye displaying three blips on the screen. Aerosmith began to circle around back towards them and-

"Narancia!"

That was Bucciarati's voice. Mista hadn't even noticed he'd gotten out of the car, too busy helping Fugo move forwards. They were close enough to see Narancia stiffen but his expression was hidden in the dark shadows of the porch.

There was a happy cry, the plane above them disappeared, and the sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden steps of the porch as Narancia bolted down them towards where they'd parked the car about fifty meters away.

Under the light of the moon, Mista could see clearly enough to see Narancia's mouth fall open in shock as he halted halfway to them, finally recognizing who it was that Mista was holding up. 'Time to let go,' he thought to himself as Fugo tightened his grip on Mista's arm before letting go altogether. He stepped back, watching as the pair stared each other down.

Fugo made the first move, much to Mista's surprise. The blond took a tentative step forward, watching Narancia's features carefully as he swallowed thickly and said, "Narancia…"

That was all the brunette needed apparently, because one second he was standing there, and the next he was bolting forward faster than Mista had even seen him move, practically throwing himself at Fugo as he tackled him to the ground.

"Fugo!" Narancia sounded so damn happy but the choking sounds he made as he babbled the blond's name over and over again wasn't lost on Mista. Fugo, to his credit, didn't so much as blink, just lay there with Narancia clinging to him like a puppy that hadn't seen their owner in a week.

Eventually, it dissolved into hiccupping sobs that pretty quickly had Fugo tearing up as well and Mista figured he should probably leave them to it and turned around to go find Bucciarati.

The capo was watching the pair from a further distance away, still waiting around the car under the guise of inspecting it for any damage or trackers. "Can't interrupt their moment, huh?" Mista said jovially as he strolled back to Bucciarati. The capo straightened up and smiled.

"Indeed. I admit, I was a bit concerned about how Fugo would be welcomed back but…" he trailed off as he looked to where Fugo and Narancia had sat up now, both still hugging each other tightly. "I think those concerns may have been unfounded."