A/N: This is all Bruno's perspective and it was very fun to write lmao best mom


Mista was the last to join the group in the kitchen, and even though he'd been hoping for a different outcome, Bucciarati had expected as much.

From what he'd been told, the group that went ahead to Sardegnia had been saved by Trish awakening her Stand. He'd had his suspicions ever since noticing that handprint in the dirt after the Grateful Dead fight and now those were confirmed.

Thanks to her quick thinking, Trish had managed to rescue Giorno's hand and had used Spice Girl to rip off Abbacchio's arm where the remnants of the Stand had gathered by making the flesh and bone soft enough to tear. They'd all recovered, Abbacchio had told him the night before, and his arm was good as new thanks to Giorno. Well, Bucciarati said it was thanks to Giorno. Abbacchio had just scoffed and said he'd be fine with just one arm.

He was worried about her.

The poor girl had been thrust into such a confusing scenario right after the passing of her mother, such a tumultuous time regardless. Now she awakened a strange power after her own father had tried to kill her and witnessed such horrible violence and- and she was only fifteen.

Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical of him to wish that his younger subordinates would have been spared from seeing the monstrosities of the world, as he'd been even younger than all of them when he joined Passione, but he had no other choice at the time.

No other choice that would be satisfying, that would sit well enough in his stomach that he wouldn't get sick at night.

Although he wasn't going to get sick ever again, now was he?

There were still many things he had to do, however, before he could allow himself to leave, and the first thing on that long list was to talk to Trish.

The others had all received their breakfast by now, tomatoes and eggs and prosciutto, along with coffee for those who wanted it. Bucciarati was fairly certain that Narancia's cup was more sugar and milk than coffee, but he supposed he could let it slide this once. The boy needed to learn how to start managing on his own, after all.

"You not gonna eat, Bucciarati?"

That was Mista asking, in the middle of stuffing his face with half an entire tomato while trying to keep Sex Pistols from attacking his plate.

"He better," Abbacchio growled, fixing Bruno with a look that made it quite clear he wasn't getting off if he didn't eat anything.

How to avoid the meal this time, then. He couldn't exactly eat anymore, but the matter hadn't been an issue whilst dealing with Fugo. Although the blond was quite observant, he had been far too injured to process the way Bucciarati fed them both but not himself, and Mista just wasn't paying attention anyway. Leone, however, would be a different story.

"Of course I intend to," he explained calmly, hesitating in the doorway. "But we're missing someone; I plan to check on them first."

That answer seemed to satisfy Abbacchio, who huffed in irritation but went back to eating, headphones sliding into place over his ears.

"Oh! Tell Trish she should come eat with us! And tell her that I wanna talk to her more!" Narancia exclaimed, food flying out of his overstuffed mouth as he spoke. "And that I thought of some cool stuff we can do and I wanna see her Stand again and-"

"Close your damn mouth, dumbass!" Fugo smacked him upside the head, diverting Narancia's sudden anger to himself. Parrying the switchblade that was now flying around his head, Fugo nodded at Bucciarati.

Sending the blond a grateful smile, he slipped from the room and down the hall, not missing the way Giorno was examining him suspiciously.

He couldn't hide this from the blond much longer; although he had been the one to revive Bucciarati, he would also be the first to pick up on the lack of life his body seemed to hold now. In fact, Bruno was mildly surprised that Giorno hadn't noticed by now, even if he had recognized that something was wrong.

It wasn't his fault, of course, but Bucciarati feared Giorno wouldn't see it that way and he had decided to hide it for as long as possible.

His body was giving out sooner than he'd hoped, the stiffness in his limbs even starting to fade into the absence of feeling at all. The one time he'd attempted to eat, he could feel the way the food sat in his stomach, not digesting, not moving, just sitting there immobile. It was such a horribly uncomfortable feeling that he had stopped after a single bite. Now he couldn't even tell he had a stomach at all.

How long, he wondered to himself as he ascended the staircase to Trish's room, did he have before it gave out entirely? And would that be enough time to stop the Boss? To do all that he still needed to do?

Although he knew the answer to that last question. Of course not.

Stopping in front of the wooden door, he cleared his throat before knocking. It wouldn't do to have such thoughts when he was attempting to soothe another.

"Trish?" he called through the door, not wanting to wake her if she was still asleep. He could hear movement in the room though, a shuffling of sorts, and a few seconds later, the door creaked open and the girl's pink hair poked through as she peered out at him.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, a trace of slight annoyance in her voice, and Bucciarati wondered if he disturbed her in the middle of something.

"I came to check if you were up," he explained gently. "You had a very long day yesterday; I didn't want to wake you if you were still resting."

"Like I could," she muttered under her breath and Bruno felt a pinch of sympathy for the girl. He'd hoped she'd be able to sleep alright, but judging from the circles under her eyes, that hadn't been the case.

"Well, if you're feeling up for it, would you like something to eat? I know it's a bit late for breakfast, but we all needed the chance to sleep in a little."

"I'm not that hungry," Trish said softly, gripping the door tighter as she averted her gaze.

Bucciarati frowned.

"Trish, I know these past few days have been… very difficult for you, but I would encourage you to eat at least a slice of bread or a pastry. It wouldn't do for you to not keep up your strength, and I can tell you're a very strong girl. We'll all get through this. Together. I hope you know you aren't alone in this."

She looked at him for a few seconds, green eyes unreadable in the morning light, and Bucciarati sighed internally. Although he'd had his hands full with his gang, he wished he had learned to deal with young girls as well as boys at some point; he wasn't sure what else to say.

"…Would you like me to bring you something?" he offered at last, smiling gently down at her.

Trish seemed to start a little at that, flushing as she averted her eyes to the ground again. "Not really," she said. "It's fine."

"…Well I won't force you," Bucciarati said with a sigh. "But perhaps you'll come down a little later? I was told by Narancia that he has many things he'd like to talk to you about."

"Okay," she answered, shutting the door rather abruptly. Still, he was fairly sure he'd caught a glimpse of a smile on her pink lips the instant before the crack in the door closed. Deciding there was nothing more he could do at the moment, he made his way back downstairs.

As he entered the small eating area again, Abbacchio immediately honed in on him and beckoned him over.

"Eat something," he commanded, wrapping an arm firmly around Bucciarati's waist from where he sat in his chair. The warmth was nice, although Bucciarati was pretty sure that was because he, himself, felt no warmth or chill within his body now. Eventually Leone would notice; he'd need to start distancing himself soon.

It hurt to admit that.

"C'mon, here." He held up a small chocolate pastry, the kind that Bucciarati had always loved to eat back when he - when he was alive. Yes, alive. How strange this all was.

"Leone, I couldn't, that's yours," he denied, pushing it back towards the older man with a gentle swish of his hand.

Abbacchio's face twisted into a scowl but before he could say anything, another voice cut him off.

"Bucciarati, I set your food aside in the refrigerator for when you're hungry. You shouldn't have snacked so much while we were making the food; I told you you would be too full now."

Giorno's unwavering green gaze didn't so much as flinch as Abbacchio rounded on the blond, clearly ready to (attempt to) tear him a new one. Bucciarati thought he noticed concern there as he flashed him a grateful smile.

"Shut up you piece of-"

"Thank you Giorno," Bucciarati cut off before Leone could launch into whatever spiel he had been planning. Honestly, why did those two not get along? Bruno had thought Leone would like Giorno of all things, his personality quite similar to the blond's. Maybe that was why?

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness," he continued, pulling the chair next to Abbacchio out so he could sit down beside his partner.

Giorno nodded, not saying another word, but the look in his eyes made Bucciarati swallow. He couldn't hide this much longer, could he?

"Didn't take ya for a snacker while makin' food," Mista drawled, completely oblivious to the tension that had settled in the room. "But I guess there's lots we don't know about ya, huh?"

Alright, maybe not.

Those dark eyes of the gunman were a bit disconcerting and Bruno was reminded of the discussion they'd had in the drive to Russelae.

"I'd say we don't know a lot about everyone here," Fugo cut in at that moment, fixing Mista with a quick glower before shifting the topic. "Maybe you should think of something to answer any questions you have to pass the time then?"

"Oooh, good idea!" Narancia exclaimed excitedly, pumping his arms as he started to list all the games he knew of. "There's truth and dare, two truths and a lie, never have I ever, poker-"

"Poker? What does that have to do with personal stuff?"

"You idiot Mista, people make all kindsa faces playing poker! There's a lot you can tell about a dude that way!"

"I'd say you're insane but you actually make an interesting point," Fugo mused, ruffling the brunet's hair. To Bucciarati's surprise, Narancia simply grinned at the younger boy instead of yelling at him for treating him like a child. When did those two get so close?

Or maybe they had always been that way.

His memories were fuzzier of late.

As the three boys debated what to play, Bucciarati took a moment to truly just breathe. Well, figuratively. He couldn't actually breathe anymore after all. The feeling itself was strange, or rather, the absence of feeling. At first glance, his body looked normal. Cut it open, however, and what you would find… he didn't know.

Perhaps Fugo would know, having a much better understanding of anatomy and physiology than Bruno, but that would mean telling the blond about his condition. He could only imagine how horribly that would go.

In an ideal world, he would leave them all after everything was finished, with no one knowing until it was too late. Until he was no longer there to see them grieve and wish he could feel the pain that their crying faces would bring. But this world was not ideal. He had learned that far too many times to trust in it.

A soft noise to the left of the room drew his attention, and he looked over to see Trish standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

She looked apprehensive, as if she was nervous to be in the same room as them all despite having travelled together for nearly a week now. Maybe it was the intimacy of it all, dining together like a family, that frightened her.

Before Bucciarati could say anything, Narancia was on his feet, bouncing over to her with all the excitement of a kid in a candy store.

"Trish, you came down!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand to lead her to the table, "Good, good, I got so much to tell you, sit here, sit by me, okay? Fugo, move your dumb ass over!"

"Shut up, asshole!" Fugo snapped indignantly but obeyed anyway as Narancia dragged a chair over in between his and Fugo's.

"Here, here, want me to get ya something to eat? Uh, let's see, what'd you guys get again?"

"There's some tomato slices in the fridge," Giorno offered, standing up. "I can get them, Narancia, sit down, alright?" He tactfully did not add that he was concerned Narancia would break the dishes and spill the food in his excitement.

"I'll come-"

Bucciarati was pulled back into his chair before he got the chance to finish what he was saying.

"Oh no, you're staying right here," Abbacchio growled, shifting in his chair as he settled in to watch the younger boys fuss.

Giorno was fixing a plate with tomatoes and a few small pastries from the assortment they'd bought while Mista came up beside him to refill his coffee. He whispered something to the blond that had the flicker of a grin cross his face and Bucciarati smiled. He was glad those two were growing close. Narancia and Fugo were arguing about whether or not to dress tomatoes with feta cheese or just salt and pepper while Trish listened silently, although the gleam in her eyes was warm, content even. Abbacchio had his headphones around his neck while his hand remained wrapped tightly around Bruno's. He could feel the pulse of Leone's warmth against his own dead fingers, scalding them.

He wondered if this was what it was like to feel alive again.