Arriving at Costa Smeralda was both exhilarating and terrifying.
It was their destination, their goal, they were finally going to find out who the Boss was… but Mista had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy. It never was.
The others seemed to be feeling the same way, considering the argument they'd had just about who would scope out the area and who would stay in the turtle.
"I told you I should get to go too!" Fugo was yelling furiously, jabbing his finger at Narancia as he cried, "Do you really think this idiot is gonna be able to watch his own back?! Aerosmith can't do two things at once!"
"Fugo, I have said many times that Abbacchio and I are more than enough to handle it," Bucciarati answered calmly. They both seemed to be ignoring Narancia's screeching about how he'd be perfectly fine on his own, which really was the best choice because the idiot had no self-preservation instinct. Still, Mista was surprised Bucciarati wasn't giving in.
"And see, that's why I'll go and I'll look after him and everything'll be-"
"No, Mista. You aren't coming either."
Apparently, Bucciarati wasn't listening to him either.
"But just the three of you going is stupid! There's seven of us, surely-"
"That's exactly why you four need to stay in the turtle. It wouldn't do any good for all of us to walk into a trap unprepared; some of you must hang back. Abbacchio has to go; his Moody Blues is the only thing that can uncover the Boss's identity. Narancia has the best reconnaissance stand out of all of us, so he's going as well."
"Then why must you go?" Giorno questioned, and something about his tone made it sound like he knew something Mista didn't. "Bucciarati, you are indispensable to all of us, you of all people should know that we want you to stay-"
"And that's exactly why I will not," the capo interrupted. "You are all under my command, in danger because of a decision I made. After what happened to Fugo when he tried to leave, I have entertained no illusions that you all had a choice in the matter. This is because of me and I will not allow any of you to walk into danger when it's not necessary."
"Bucciarati, that's-"
"Enough. There will be no more debate; the decision has been made."
Mista frowned but really, there was no arguing with the guy when he sounded like that. That tone was only reserved for when he was obviously upset and Mista actually felt sorta guilty that they'd made the guy use it.
Judging by the looks on the other's faces, they shared similar sentiments.
Bucciarati and Abbacchio had retreated to the far end of the room, whispering in hushed voices that Mista couldn't make out in the slightest, but Abbacchio looked worried and suddenly, Mista didn't really want to know what they were saying. He turned his attention elsewhere.
Fugo was scowling something fierce but had turned his attention to Narancia, muttering quietly what were probably instructions and endless concerns that he had about the whole thing. To his credit, Narancia was just nodding along furiously as though his life depended on it- which, Mista realized, it very well might.
After all, they had no idea what was waiting for them out there.
Trish had remained silent during the discussion, the only one who obviously wasn't going to be allowed to accompany them, but Mista was pretty damn sure she still wanted to go anyways. Her fingernails were digging into the chair she was perched in, the wooden fibers bending beneath her Stand's power the only sign that she was more worked up than she let on.
Giorno was beside Mista on the couch, head in his hands with his eyes closed as he thought and Mista had to resist the urge to reach out and rub the boy's back. The blond looked like he might blow a fuse any second from thinking too hard. He decided to just scoot over a bit, pressing his arm up against Giorno's with only a moment's hesitation. He felt the boy's arm tense at the touch but he didn't pull away; in fact, it seemed almost like he was leaning into it.
This was all Mista could do for now, but hopefully it would be enough.
"Alright," Bucciarati announced a few minutes later, after he'd finished whatever he'd been talking to Abbacchio about. "The three of us will be going to scope out the area first. We'll call you out if we need you. Otherwise, you are not to act unless in danger. Is that understood?"
The capo waited until he heard vocalized agreements from his subordinates before seeming to deflate a bit.
"I understand your fears," he said softly. "And I know why you want to come. There is strength in numbers. However, in this case, you must simply wait here and believe in our strength. We can't put all of us at risk."
"We understand, Bucciarati," Fugo replied. "We just don't like it. That's all."
Bucciarati smiled gently at the blond boy, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "You're in charge for now, Fugo. I trust you."
Fugo's chest puffed out with pride at the capo's words, nodding his head firmly in response. Mista wouldn't have been surprised if he gave a damn salute.
"Bucciarati."
Giorno's voice was so soft, Mista wondered if the capo would even hear it, but the man looked over all the same.
"Be careful. Please."
The expression Bucciarati wore was like a parent consoling their child, so warm and soft, that Mista had a hard time remembering that Bucciarati was just their capo and not their mom. He gave Giorno a simple nod of the head but Mista could already feel tension leaving the blond from where their arms were touching.
And then the three disappeared from the turtle, leaving the four remaining in silence.
It felt like hours before anything happened, even though it was probably just a few minutes.
They had all sat in silence, the other three quietly brooding, and Mista wondered if that was just a teen thing. Even though he didn't really remember ever having that phase himself, but there wasn't much time for phases when you were living day to day, he supposed.
When Aerosmith had finally flown over the gem in the turtle, Mista had been thinking about the logistics of tension quite literally causing an explosion.
The sound of the Stand firing overheard drew their attention and Mista counted out one, two, three shots.
The signal to move.
He shared quick glances with Fugo and Giorno before the three stood.
"Stay in the turtle, Trish," Fugo instructed. "You two, let's go."
The turtle let them out next to the car where they'd pulled over on the side of the road, a few hundred meters from the target statue. The rocky cliffline was to their left, the ocean to the right, and their destination ahead.
Giorno and Fugo immediately took off down the road but Mista hung back, eyeing the turtle for a split second before bending down to scoop it up and rush after his friends. Worst case scenario, Coco Jumbo was left behind and got taken away or run over or worse. Best case, they'd have to go back to the car anyways. Better safe than sorry.
The three of them rushed down the street, Mista holding onto Coco Jumbo tightly as he followed Giorno and Fugo. A minute later and the scene of the beach rose up over the barrier along the edge of the road.
"That must be it!" Mista said as he recognized the statue, Abbacchio standing next to it with Moody Blues a meter in front. He frowned in confusion when he noticed the clear absence. "Hey, where are Narancia and Bucciarati? I only see Abbacchio on the beach."
Giorno nodded, hand rubbing under his chin as he said, "An enemy must've appeared." Mista watched him pull out the binoculars from his belt and pass them off to Fugo as he added, "They're probably pursuing the enemy."
"It seems Abbacchio hasn't started his replay yet," Fugo added, adjusting one of the lenses as he focused the gaze on their teammate.
"Trish remembered that the photo was taken fifteen years ago in June," Giorno mused aloud, and Mista was glad because he was kind of confused about what was taking so long. "but she doesn't know the exact date. Moody Blues is searching with a timer for the exact time. And when it figures that out…"
"It'll be able to change into the Boss," Mista realized.
"Let's go-"
"Wait," Fugo ordered, freezing both Giorno and Mista in their tracks. "If we follow the road, we don't know when we'll come to a staircase or a path down to the beach. It might be much further than we think."
"So what now?" Giorno questioned.
"That's just the thing," Fugo said. "I'm not sure. I'd say we scale the cliff face but we have neither the gear nor the time to do such a thing. Not to mention I'm not all that keen on letting you try to do something that physically demanding yet, Giorno."
Giorno looked ready to protest but Mista quickly shot his arm to placate him as he said, "Fugo's right. You passed out, dude." When it looked like he still wanted to argue, Mista lowered his voice as he murmured, "Please. Don't worry me like that again."
Giorno stared at him for a few seconds with those piercing green eyes before sighing and stepping back. "Fine. Then what do you suggest we do?"
Fugo had his hand under his chin, eyes fixed on a point on the ground with that vacant stare he always got when he was thinking hard about something. Then a flash of realization flickered across his feature and he looked up.
Fugo shot both of them a guilty look before saying, "Much as I hate to ask this of you, Giorno, do you think Gold Experience would be able to turn some of the rocks on the cliff face into something that functions as a ladder down to the beach?"
"Hmm… I believe I've actually done something like that before," Giorno considered as he walked over to the edge of the road and stepped over the barrier to examine the rocky edge. "I think I can manage that just fine."
"Perfect. Mista, you'll go with Giorno, okay? Leave Coco Jumbo with me and I'll go meet up with Bucciarati and Narancia, inform them of the situation."
"Got it. Stay safe, dude." Fugo nodded at Mista's words before taking off down the street, the sounds of his feet slapping against the concrete echoing until he was out of earshot just a few seconds later.
The sound of warping drew Mista's attention and he found that Giorno was already in the process of growing thick vines out of the stone surface, Gold Experience floating by his side with its arms resting on the ground.
"Careful," Mista murmured as he clambered over the barrier to join Giorno, resting a hand on the blond's shoulder. "I know you're tough 'n all, but remember what happened when you did too much last time."
"I was simply tired," Giorno deflected. "I hadn't rested well and the end of that day was very strenuous. It's not something that would normally happen."
"Yeah, well, we aren't really out of strenuous stuff yet, so. Just humor me, yeah?"
Giorno didn't answer but he did flash Mista a quick smile before turning his attention back to the plants and Mista knew that was the best he was gonna get. It was fascinating to watch the plants spring out of nothing, thick green stalks growing up to meet them with large, heavy leaves sprouting out.
"That should be good," Giorno said, Gold Experience disappearing as the blond straightened up to eye the cliff face. "I'll go first and-"
"Oh no," Mista cut in. "I'll go first. And before you argue, we both know it's safer if I go first. I don't give a shit that you're 'fine now,' you agreed to humor me, so you're gonna, got that?"
Giorno frowned and crossed his arms over his chest but didn't protest and Mista nodded firmly.
"Good. Wait until I'm on the ground before you come down."
And with that, he grabbed the top of the vines, latching onto the strong leaves as he carefully lowered himself downwards. It wasn't that far, maybe ten meters or so, but it was far enough that it would damn well hurt if they fell. Giorno's makeshift ladder was, however, even stronger than it looked. As Mista used the braided loops on the vines and the leaves as rungs, he found himself growing more confident when the plants didn't even shift under his weight.
A minute later and he was on the beach, feet pressed firmly against the sand as he looked up to wave Giorno down, stepping back to get into position to catch the blond in case he fell.
Despite his worries, Giorno moved with an easy grace down the vines as if he was walking down a staircase or something. It took him less than half the time it took Mista to reach the beach and when he landed beside the gunsman, he offered a small smirk that Mista knew was aimed at his over-worrying.
"Don't even start," he grumbled, pushing Giorno lightly as the blond chuckled softly.
"Come on," Giono said. "Let's go."
Now that they were on the beach, it was far quicker to just run towards where they knew Abbacchio would be. The only awkward thing were the tourists who were scattered across the sandy beach, and Mista knew he and Giorno probably looked pretty out of place, wearing a suit and sweater to the beach.
"There he is," Mista pointed out, gesturing to a dark figure near the statue. "He's the only guy who'd wear all black to the ocean."
Giorno grinned and opened his mouth to say something before stopping in his tracks.
Abbacchio was around fifty meters or so in front of them when they saw a group of kids run over near the man, pointing at something in a tree growing out of a cliff nearby. They watched as the man approached the group, reaching up to knock what looked like a ball out of the tree. And then the kids ran off and Abbacchio turned back towards the statue and-
-and slumped over as something began to stain the rocks behind him that he'd fallen onto.
Mista was moving before he had even processed what he'd just seen, Giorno hot on his heels as they both ran like they'd never run before, clearing the gap between them and the man in less than ten seconds.
As they grew closer, Mista felt his heart plummet.
It was worse than he could've ever imagined. Blood was pouring out onto the rocks and oozing into the sand, dying it a vivid red as their teammate struggled to breathe, gurgling sounds coming out of the back of his throat with a vacant look in his eyes that was rapidly fading.
"No, no, no, no, no," Mista moaned, jerking up from where his eyes were fixed on the scene to look around frantically for the culprit. They had to be nearby, one of those kids maybe, he had to find them, had to chase them down and get revenge and-
"Mista!"
Giorno's urgent cry was the only thing that stopped him from running off and he slowly turned back. The blond was crouched next to Abbacchio, knees in the blood-red sand with Gold Experience's arms over his own as he frantically tried to mend the gaping wound in their teammate.
God. So much blood and- and ripped muscles and fuck, that was Abbacchio's lung that was punched clean through and Mista could see his ribs and the white of his spine and this was something he'd never be able to forget.
"Mista. Listen to me." The quaver in Giorno's voice was the only thing grounding Mista right now and he forced himself to look at the blond and not at- at what was basically a corpse by now. "I need you to begin CPR the second I tell you so. Can you do that?"
When Mista didn't respond, Giorno added as his pitch raised, "Mista. I need your help."
Mista bit his lip, blinking back the tears welling in his eyes as he nodded jerkily before staggering over to kneel down on the opposite side of their fallen comrade. God, he didn't wanna see this. He didn't wanna look but- but if Giorno could do it, so he could he. He needed to.
He looked up, brown eyes dark and hollow as he watched his friend repair the lung that had been punched through entirely and wondered if they could really save him at all.
"Won't it-" Mista cleared his throat when his voice came out ragged. "-won't it make it worse? Th-the chest compressions?"
Giorno shook his head. "There's so much blunt force trauma already, I- I'm not sure anything could be worse than this. We have to get him breathing again once his lung is repaired, it's our only chance, Mista."
Mista nodded, eyes fixed as the pink lung tissue knit itself back together with the rocks and sand Giorno was using in place of real flesh.
He watched the last tiny hole fill itself in as Giorno uttered, "Now, Mista!"
Mista couldn't remember the last time he'd had to do CPR but he remembered Fugo showing him how when he joined the gang, telling him that it was a necessary skill in their line of work and how it was more important to be forceful than careful. Broken ribs could heal; dead tissue from lack of oxygen could not.
He desperately racked his brain as he began compressions, lacing his fingers together as he pushed down as hard as he could atop Abbacchio's sternum. One, two, three… how many was it again? Twenty? Thirty? Something like that, he figured the exact number wasn't as important as doing it accurately. Mista moved quickly, rapidly repeating the chest compressions despite the grotesque noises coming from the hole just a centimeter or two from his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see blood spurting out each time he pressed down and he hoped that that was a good sign.
He decided to stop at thirty, thinking it better to do too many rather than too little, and moved towards Abbacchio's head. Under normal circumstances, Mista wouldn't dream of putting his lips anywhere near Abbacchio's, but this wasn't a normal circumstance. Right now, he didn't care at all.
Mista lifted Abbacchio's chin up, pinched his nose, and bent down to breathe two full breaths into Abbacchio's open mouth, ignoring the sickening taste of blood and the slippery wetness of his lips and chin.
He moved back to continue compressions, to repeat the process as many times as he needed to, and that was when he heard voices. Familiar voices.
Narancia's cry of anguish reached them first and Mista noticed the way Giorno flinched at the sound, such an agonizingly distressed shriek. Fugo's voice followed, likely trying to subdue Narancia despite the obvious fear in his own words. Bucciarati was the only one who was silent and Mista didn't even want to look at the capo's face, terrified of the expression it would hold.
"Abbacchio!" Narancia wailed, Mista looking up in time to see Fugo wrench the brunet back so he wouldn't disrupt Mista and Giorno, and he regretted it the instant he saw the way tears were streaming down his friend's face.
Fugo himself didn't look much better; he wasn't crying but that look of distress was something Mista had never seen on his face before in his entire year and a half of knowing the guy. He was talking to Narancia but Mista couldn't hear anything he was saying, his body just automatically moving at this point.
That was thirty and he moved back to Abbacchio's head again, catching a glimpse of Bucciarati as he did so. The distant look in his eyes sent chills down Mista's spine and he forced himself to look away, look anywhere but at the capo, but that meant he saw the glazed-over look in Abbacchio's eyes and that was even worse.
Mista felt like he was gonna puke.
"-doing everything I can," Giorno was saying as Mista pulled back from administering the rescue breaths. "But I don't- it isn't looking good."
Giorno's voice was agony to listen to, barely audible over Narancia's sobbing echoing out from where he'd buried his face in Fugo's chest.
Bucciarati was nodding, approaching them painfully slowly as if he didn't quite know how to react or what to do.
"Do all you can," the capo rasped, kneeling down next to Giorno with his blue eyes fixated on Abbacchio's vacant stare. Mista saw him reach out with a shaky tremor to grasp his partner's hand, holding it as tight as the capo could muster.
Mista went to give the breaths again and as he did so, he heard Bucciarati's voice, agonizingly broken, whisper, "Please, Leone. Don't leave me."
