Fugo knew he couldn't stay here even as he felt the edges of a panic attack creeping into his senses, breath coming up short and fear circuiting through him at a rampant pace. His legs felt glued to the ground and even as he managed to get back to his feet, it was like he was pushing up through syrup.
Everything was going wrong and he couldn't fucking stay here.
He slapped his face hard, the stinging pain helping him ground himself as he took a steadying breath before fixing his eyes on the burning house. Surely no one was still inside - but what if they were? Should he check the house first? Or should he look around the perimeter? Or should he flee, because if everyone was dead and he was all that was left, then-
No, that wasn't the answer, he knew that. Fugo forced himself to start walking forwards, edging slowly towards the house as he listened for any signs of noise.
It was when he was about twenty meters away or so that he heard something and stopped. It was faint but when he paused to listen, he could hear voices coming from behind the house and he broke into a sprint.
They grew closer as he ran, skirting around the building as close as he dared because who knew when it could collapse, or worse, explode. The voices were louder and it became clear they were yelling about something.
Four figures came into sight framed against the backdrop of the treeline near the cliffs edge and he recognized them. Relief shot through him as he neared them, one of the people in the group looking up to see him moving towards them.
"Stop!" he yelled when he saw Sticky Fingers emerge from Bucciarati, holding his arms up harmlessly, "It's me! It's Fugo!"
There was a sharp cry and he saw someone, likely Narancia, bolt towards him but immediately be held back by Abbacchio. Fugo frowned as he crept closer towards them, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He could predict what the man was thinking.
He could not predict Abbacchio storming up to him, wrapping one fist in his clothing to yank him forwards and the other slamming into his left cheek. It would've knocked him off his feet if the man hadn't been holding him up. His eyes swam as he felt the familiar taste of iron well up inside his mouth from where his cheek had been bitten into.
"This is your fault!" Abbacchio roared furiously, shaking him violently in his grip. "How dare you come back here?! I should kill you right fucking now!"
"I-it wasn't m-me…" he stammered, wrapping his hands around Abbacchio's arm in an effort to free himself from the iron grasp. The fabric of his clothes and tie were pressing on his throat and it was getting harder to breathe.
"Bull fucking shit!"
"Leone! Let him go!" A hand clamped down on Abbacchio's shoulder, Bucciarati standing behind him looking both incensed and concerned.
"You know it was him, Bruno, he fucking betrayed us before, of course he'd do it-"
"No! Fugo wouldn't do that!" Narancia leapt on top of the man, pulling at his arms furiously as he tried to pry Abbacchio's hands off of Fugo. He hadn't been expecting it and Fugo felt his grip loosen enough that he could wrench himself away from the older man and try to catch his breath. He would've fallen if Narancia hadn't instantly rushed to his side, muttering frantically about the blood on his clothes and the gunshot wounds on his body.
"Don't fucking defend him!" Abbacchio yelled, taking a step forward. Narancia noticed and immediately inserted himself in between the man and Fugo. "Move aside!"
"You'll have to get through me first," the boy bared his teeth angrily. Fugo didn't think he'd ever seen Narancia look so angry before.
"It's fine," Fugo said quickly, grabbing Narancia's arm and squeezing it. "He's right to blame-"
"No he isn't! Don't say that!"
"See, he fucking admitted-"
"ALL OF YOU STOP!" Bucciarati's voice boomed over the protests and three heads quickly jerked to stare at him in shock. Their capo rarely raised his voice but it was times like these that they were reminded of the type of presence he commanded.
"This is appalling," he said, softer this time but his blue gaze was icy cold. "You are all supposed to be more level headed than this; how can we possibly discern the truth if there is fighting among us-"
"There's no one else-"
"Abbacchio. Silence. I will not repeat myself." The older man scowled angrily but was sufficiently cowed for now. Bucciarati waited a moment to be sure he wasn't going to protest anymore before he continued. "While I admit your logic makes sense, your actions do not. We are all supposed to be squadmates, comrades. Friends. And regardless of the reasons, we are all here to protect something; I thought we determined that last night."
"…we did," Abbacchio admitted finally. "But like you said Bucciarati, it makes sense! He sided with the Boss, he tried to kill Mista, why wouldn't he do this?! If you can betray someone once, you can do it twice. And it only gets easier."
Bucciarati's expression softened at the man's words and Fugo got the feeling that he was referring to something in his past that the capo knew of. Even so, he couldn't just let this slide.
"I have done nothing but remain true to myself this whole time," Fugo ground out, clenching his fists to keep from exploding in anger. He felt Narancia practically vibrating with nervous but supportive energy beside him and it gave him strength. "I told you that. I never once betrayed myself and I never plan to."
"No one does," Abbacchio hissed and Fugo threw up his arms in frustration.
"Then use Moody Blues! It can replay all my actions, you can see for yourself! All I did was fight against my enemies! I did nothing to betray any of you!"
Abbacchio's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak but Bucciarati cut him off. "What do you mean by that, Fugo? What happened?"
The blond hesitated; it was true that he'd deserted his post and acted on his own, it was his actions that led to this whether indirectly or not. He swallowed before saying quietly, "There was a kid. He needed help. The men, the same ones who attacked the safehouse, they went after them as a diversion for the person on watch. Hurt them. They were children, Bucciarati. I couldn't do nothing."
"Was it-" Narancia murmured quietly and Fugo nodded his head in affirmation.
Bucciarati stared at him with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest. Finally, he sighed and said, "I should tell you that you never abandon your post, not for any reason. And you know this, Fugo. You should have alerted one of us and formed some sort of plan, or at least told someone before you left. You shouldn't have just ran off like that." Fugo hung his head. Bucciarati was right; of course he was, but it didn't mean it wasn't guilt-inducing.
"But I suppose if I'm going to tell you all that, then I should also tell you that I would have done the same thing in your position."
Fugo froze before lifting his gaze rapidly to look at Bucciarati, whose expression had softened into one of exasperated fondness and he couldn't help the grin stretching across his face as he murmured, "I thought that, Bucciarati. I wondered what you would do and I acted."
"You shouldn't place so much faith in me," Bucciarati replied as he stepped forward to rest a hand on Fugo's shoulder and offered a small smile in return. "But I'm glad to see you're alright- well, for the most part, I suppose."
"It's not that bad," Fugo objected quickly, waving his arms in dismissal but winced when it jostled his shoulder. Now that things were calming down, his wounds were starting to hurt more and more; he looked forward to having them healed. "Where's Giorno?"
At his question, the others seemed to freeze. Bucciarati's arm dropped away from him, Narancia seemed to wilt in on himself at Fugo's side, and Abbacchio just scoffed and shook his head before turning away.
"There." Trish had been silent until now, watching the four of them work things out themselves, but now she stepped forward and pointed at the safehouse. "And so is Mista."
Fugo felt the blood drain from his face as he stared in growing horror at the house.
"Please tell me that's a joke," he asked desperately, but the faces he received were answer enough. He shook his head frantically; "No, they can't be; look, the windows, those spiderweb cracks are dangerous, a-and the smoke by the windows, this is bad, there's going to be a-"
Just as he uttered those words, there was a high-pitched whistling followed by a cracking noise as the remaining windows of the house splintered open and an explosion rocked the foundation to its core.
There was yelling next to him and then Trish was rushing off to the left but Fugo remained transfixed on the safehouse, or what was left of it, as the mushroom cloud of flames and smoke billowed into the night sky. He felt Narancia clutch his arm tightly and tried to ground himself. All he could think about were Bucciarati and Abbacchio, how this had been the house they'd bought together. And how it gave him a strange feeling of dread.
Everything was loud and dark and the only tangible thing Mista had right now was the warm body pressed tightly to his own as they shot through the air.
He tried to brace himself as best he could for the inevitable impact with the ground but the shattering of bones and excruciating pain scared him. He just knew he needed to save Giorno from that.
However, when he landed in something far too soft and squishy to be the ground, he couldn't help his immediate confusion.
He cracked open one eye carefully, wondering if maybe he'd died and this was the afterlife, and was met with two heads peering over him framed by the moonlight instead, one with glowing green eyes and he shrieked.
"Fuck!"
Wait, he knew that voice.
"Trish?"
"Yes, so don't-" Trish was still talking but Mista's ears were ringing and his heart was racing a thousand kilometers a minute so he had no clue what else she was saying. Seeming to notice this, the girl did what looked like a sigh as she straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. Spice Girl was by her side, looking like it was done with just about everything right now.
Mista unwrapped one arm from where he was holding Giorno against his chest to feel what was beneath him. It was definitely the ground, soft grass and dirt brushing through his fingers, but the solid earth was more like putty and he realized that Spice Girl must've softened the ground they landed on.
"Thanks," he said absentmindedly, propping himself up on his good arm to examine Giorno.
The others were there too now, voices mixing together and blurring any coherent words but all of Mista's focus was on the blond. Giorno was alive, he could tell that much from the soft rise and fall of his chest, but his green eyes were vacant and his breath was uneven and accompanied by a faint wheeze every time he breathed in.
But he was alive and Mista could relax a bit.
He slumped back on the ground as he exhaled slowly. The adrenaline seemed to be fading now and as it did, it took the dulled pain with it. Things were starting to genuinely hurt now but it didn't matter, they were all okay.
"-sta."
Things were starting to form clearly again and he blinked open his eyes to see Bucciarati standing over them.
"Mista," he said gently, his blue eyes round and worried and just the slightest bit scared. "Are you alright?"
The gunsman smirked weakly and gave a half-hearted salute with his good arm. "Aye aye, cap."
Bucciarati seemed to relax at his words and reached out to help hoist Giorno off of Mista's body. He was a little hesitant to let go of the blond so soon but it wasn't doing much good for them to stay stuck together and it did make it easier to breathe once he was off.
"What happened?" Bucciarati asked as he carefully set Giorno back on the ground, examining the wounds littering the boy's body.
"Attic," Mista grunted as he hefted himself upright and fuck that hurt but he wanted to see what was going on. "He got trapped under shit. It- it didn't look good, Bucciarati."
Mista observed that it still didn't. He hadn't pulled out any of the wood fragments that had lodged themselves in Giorno but they'd definitely gotten jostled around and looked worse and he wondered if maybe he should've after all. The boy's hair was dark and wet on the back and Mista knew it must be blood. That would explain Gold Experience's instability. And his arm, the bone was still- Ugh. If he wasn't so exhausted, he woulda hurled.
A very clearly worried Narancia was hovering over Bucciarati's shoulder, wanting to help but not quite knowing how. Abbacchio was further away, leaning against a tree at the edge of the forest very pointedly Not Looking at them. Figures. Trish was next to Mista, checking him over as well although he knew he wasn't the real problem here. Burns could be treated. Giorno's arm couldn't, not if it got gangrene. They needed the healer back.
"Giorno," he murmured, scooting over to the blond and waving Bucciarati off despite the capo's protests. The blond's green eyes flickered over to meet Mista's, a range of emotions flashing through them as Mista smiled softly. "Hey. It's okay, we're outta there. Things're gonna be fine, just like I said."
"M-Mi… sta, you-"
"Hey, no, shush, stop talking. Just listen, okay?" Giorno's mouth closed and Mista took that as a sign to continue. He could hear Bucciarati in the background arguing with Narancia and Trish but paid them no mind. "I know you're hurt. That it's a lotta pain. But ya gotta focus, yeah? Gold Experience- we need it. We need you. I need you."
Giorno's eyes seemed to clear a bit at his words and Mista hoped that this would work. This was really their only option but if Gold Experience could fix his arm, they'd be able to make this work. "Your arm," he asked cautiously, "can you- d'ya think you can do something about it?"
After a tense moment, Giorno nodded, "I-I'll try."
Mista grinned widely and, against his better judgement, slid his hand into Giorno's and squeezed it tightly. The skin-to-skin contact burned but it appeared to help Giorno steel himself as he squeezed back.
Gold Experience appeared at their sides and Mista was relieved to see that it was pretty much all there and not transparent like it had been before. The Stand looked worried itself, if Stands could feel worry, as it hovered over Giorno's right arm with its palms outstretched.
Chunks of dirt and small stones began to morph before Mista's eyes, sinking into the hole in Giorno's arm where the bone was poking out as the bone itself was shoved back into the wound. Giorno's screams were some of the worst Mista had heard as the red muscle and oozing veins knit themselves back together with the strange noises Gold Experience made when it gave life to nothing.
Giorno's hand was squeezing Mista's so tightly that he felt like it would break off and wondered vaguely if the blistered raw skin was going to pop from the pressure. His eyes remained fixated on Giorno though, the encouraging smile never once leaving his face as the blond writhed and shrieked in pain.
The bone was fixed first and it was strange to see a bone heal right before his very eyes, the white material merging into a slim radius before the muscle began to cover it followed by skin creeping in on the edges.
The whole process only took maybe five minutes but it felt like years when the wound was nothing more than an uneven area of patchy skin that didn't look quite right, probably the best it would get with Giorno how he was.
Giorno looked even paler than before, a thin sheen of sweat plastering his messy gold ringlets to his forehead as Mista pushed them away from his green eyes. He did seem to be a bit more coherent though, which was good.
"I think I get it now," he murmured quietly and it took Mista a second before he realized he was referring to when he'd healed Mista's bullet wounds. He cracked a wry grin.
"Hurts, don't it?"
Giorno gave a soft snort as he tried to push himself up into a seated position but when his face contorted in pain, Mista quickly shot his arms out to prop the boy up.
"I suppose I should do everything else too," he sighed sufferingly as he examined his body and even Mista had to admit it seemed a daunting task. In the light of the moon and the glow of the fire, he could see clearer the damage done and none of it looked good.
"Hey, the worst's over, right?" he said optimistically and Giorno just rolled his eyes as his Stand reemerged from where it had disappeared immediately after Giorno had finished with his arm.
"Do you need me to get anything for you to use?" Bucciarati asked, who had apparently finished whatever he was fighting with Narancia over to come back to the pair with a worried expression on his face as he took in the extent of Giorno's wounds.
Giorno shook his head; "I'll just use the wood and the bullet," he explained.
Mista nodded- "Wait, bullet?!"
Giorno ignored him in favor of directing Gold Experience to his leg first. Yeah, now that Mista was looking, there was another wound in that same thigh next to the wooden splinter poking out of it that could only be from a gun. Fuck, he wished those assholes in the attic had still been alive so he could kick the shit outta them. He would've made them wish they were dead, dammit.
It was fascinating to watch as the wood warped and twisted into flesh and muscle, like a puzzle piece fitting itself perfectly into the holes in his leg. Giorno was able to do it quicker this time and without so much as a groan of pain and honestly Mista was impressed by how quickly he was able to improve on Gold Experience's ability. The guy had only figured out how to use it to heal people just a few days ago. Judging by the looks on the other's faces, they had similar feelings.
He'd moved on to his side by now, the particularly nasty-looking wooden fragment protruding from below his lower ribcage morphing into skin as it closed up beneath Gold Experience's gentle touch. By the time he'd finished with that, the kid looked worn and exhausted but more or less okay again.
"What're you gonna do about your head?" Mista asked curiously, wondering how that would work. He'd only seen Giorno heal injuries he could see with his own eyes up until now.
"I'm not sure," the blond replied, reaching up to feel gingerly around the base of his skull and winced. "Would you mind looking at it for me?"
Mista nodded as he positioned himself to examine it. It was hard to see in the dark but as he parted the strands of golden blond hair, he could see where the blood had come from: a long, thin scratch running just above the hairline that seemed to have already clotted. The skin was raised around it and when he felt around it gently, there was already a bump forming.
"It doesn't look too bad," he said, "Superficial at worst."
"I'm more concerned about the possibility of concussion," Giorno agreed as he moved his head away and Mista only just realized he was still holding Giorno in his arms.
"What happened?" That was Fugo's voice, Mista realized, and the boy's head came into view behind Bucciarati. He hadn't seen him earlier but the relief at seeing Fugo there was near overwhelming. That meant they all made it out somehow. They were all alive.
"Someone caught me off guard," Giorno said. "They hit me upside the head with a board."
Bucciarati's murderous glare was all too relatable, Mista thought, and he wanted to kill that motherfucker all over again. Fucking coward.
"I'm sorry," Fugo whispered suddenly. "This is all my fault."
As Narancia immediately started refuting that, Mista felt confusion. What had he and Giorno missed while back in the house? It was only upon further investigation that he noticed that, while practically covered in blood, Fugo had no black and gray smudges of soot and ash and smoke. In fact, he looked like he hadn't been in the fire at all.
"It is no one's fault but the Boss's," Bucciarati said firmly and his tone made it clear there was no arguing with him. "You saved two lives, Fugo. Never regret that."
The blond nodded but judging from his expression, Mista wasn't so sure he bought that. He retreated back towards the forest with Narancia trailing behind him, clinging to his arm as he murmured soothing words of encouragement to his friend.
Bucciarati was looking at Giorno's head now as he asked, "Do you think you can heal it, Giorno?"
The boy shook his head. "I've only ever healed things I can see before. I can't see through Gold Experience so even if it were to heal it, I wouldn't feel confident about it without seeing what I'm doing. I'm worried I'd cause more harm than good."
Bucciarati nodded. "Well, the car is still alright so we can treat it with the first aid kit there. Mista is right; it doesn't look very bad. You should be alright in a day or two. As for the concussion… we'll have to wait and see, I suppose. Are you at all nauseous? Dizzy?"
"Just a headache," Giorno answered. "I'll rest later. Mista, show me your hands."
"I have no idea what you're-"
"Do you really think I wouldn't notice the way you're handling them so cautiously? Or that you're favoring your right arm? Now show me or I'll force you to."
"That's kinda kinky," he joked as he obeyed begrudgingly, pulling his sweater over his head despite the way the remainder of it on his left arm felt like it was ripping the skin off and how his side screamed in protest.
Now that he could actually see it, it looked worse than he thought. His left side was a vivid red even in the dim light but it was nothing compared to his forearm, which was also covered in white and pink, puffy blisters that stared angrily up at him. There was blood in some areas, from where the dead skin had peeled away, and his hands were pretty much coated in the stuff. They were both dark and red and clearly inflamed. If he squinted, Mista was pretty sure he could actually see where the layers of skin had been ripped away.
He heard a sharp inhalation and looked up to see Giorno staring at the damage with an expression of worry and anger. It was possibly the most expressive he'd ever seen the boy.
"It looks worse than it feels, really," he assured.
Bucciarati fixed him with a cold stare as he said, "That is because the skin is dead, Mista. Of course you can't feel it. Why didn't you say it was this bad?!"
"You already didn't want to let me go back in," Mista hissed, pissed off that Bucciarati was complaining now. "What was I gonna fucking say?!"
The capo looked wounded at his wods, but before he could answer, Giorno had cut in. "Stop, both of you." His voice was hard as Gold Experience appeared at his side. "Save the fighting for the next enemy. Mista, I've never tried to heal burns before and I'm not sure I'll be able to… but it's quite possible that…"
When he trailed off, thinking, Mista cocked his head in curiosity. Giorno noticed this and quickly elaborated; "Your skin… while still organic matter, it's dead. It means that I might be able to use that to replace the dead skin. Attempt to give it life - but I have to tell you that the opposite might occur instead."
That was… an interesting concept, Mista had to admit. Even a guy as dumb as him could sorta understand what the implications of that could mean if it proved functional. But if it didn't work, what would happen? If it did the opposite, it would take the life that remained in his arm. If it still counted as a living thing… didn't that mean it could kill his entire arm?
Before Bucciarati could voice the protests that he inevitably had, judging from his expression, Mista waved his good arm as he asked, "…Is this something you think you can do?"
Giorno's firm nod was more than enough for him. He swallowed thickly before grinning.
"Then do whatever ya gotta do. I trust you."
