Mista couldn't decide which was worse: the fight with White Album or this crazy mold fucker.
While losing five of the Pistols was bad enough, just lying there, waiting was worse. When they'd vanished one by one, caught by whoever the hell was up in that helicopter, he'd felt their pain, holes appearing out of thin air all over his body that burst with blood, but that wasn't so bad. He was at least used to that.
All the Pistols had been terrified right before they were attacked, unable to find their target while watching their siblings torn into pieces. Well, Mista didn't know if that was really the right word, but that's sure as hell what it felt like.
As One had watched Three fall dead to the ground with its head cut clean off, Six desperately trying to warn the last remaining Pistol of the danger, Mista felt like he was paralyzed in fear as well. Even as he lost his balance, pitching backwards as he tried to explain to Giorno what had happened, Six's terror had inexplicably cut off, leaving him feeling strangely vacant, as if part of him had disappeared as well.
Which, Mista supposed, it had.
"Mista! I'm leaving the others here!"
Giorno's voice cut in as Mista desperately tried to regain enough of his motor skills to at least move somewhat. Just as he was able to lift his head up, Giorno broke into a sprint towards the helicopter.
Maybe it was against his better judgement, but Mista managed to rasp, "G-Go with him… Number… Five… Giorno… n-needs your help…" He couldn't reach his gun himself, unable to move pretty much anything but his head, but he knew his pistol had ammo left. "T-Take a b-bullet with you…!"
Five looked frantic, like it wanted to stay with Mista, but it quickly recovered and gave a determined nod before flitting to the gun and disappearing after Giorno.
'Heh, looked like the little guy grew up some,' Mista thought as he let his head thump back against the concrete roof of the building.
This fucking sucked.
He had no ideas what the hell was going on except for occasional thunks and banging in the helicopter and whatever Five was feeling at the time, and he clung to those feelings as tight as he could. He'd never been without nearly all of the Pistols before when they were called out and it felt like his soul had been torn apart with them.
Fuck. Giorno had better win.
Mista hated feeling so inept, hated being stuck here barely able to keep his chest moving up and down and his heart pumping blood that still continued to ooze out of the wounds all over his body. This was happening way too often; he was getting knocked outta commission way more than he used to be. It had to be because of Giorno; somehow, the blond had gotten into more trouble his first week in the gang than Mista had in his first month. Still, he didn't really regret it. If he hadn't agreed with Giorno's plan to get to Capri, who knows what woulda happened, if he hadn't been there with White Album, Giorno might've frozen to death, and if he hadn't ran back into the fire, the boy would've been trapped in the explosion.
Shit, who was he kidding. Giorno woulda figure something out no matter what. He was just that kind of guy. And who was Mista? Just some dude who was good with a gun. Fucking pathetic, that's what he was.
Losing most of his Stand was seriously taking a toll on his mental health.
And that was no damn good because he was always the optimist and he had no plans to stop being that now. If he couldn't think about himself without getting depressed, then he'd just think about something else. It always worked in the past.
Like thinking about what Bucciarati and Giorno had talked about in the car.
That just made him sick all over again.
Surely he'd just misheard them, right? There was no way Bucciarati was dead, he was driving the damn car! A dead guy couldn't do that.
But Mista was reminded of the conversation he'd overheard two days ago between Bucciarati and Abbacchio, of the capo confessing that something was wrong with him but Mista hadn't heard what. He wasn't even sure if Bucciarati had told Abbacchio that. It was just like the capo to keep it from all of them. Which is what he'd asked Giorno to do…
No, no there had to be some kind of mistake here, the capo was probably just confused; Mista wouldn't have blamed him if Abbacchio's near-death had sort of traumatized the guy. Or maybe Giorno just hadn't healed him enough? In which case, that was an easy fix! Yeah, they had to be bullshitting him. Maybe it was even some kind of dumb practical joke they were playing on him because they knew he wasn't really asleep.
Okay, that sounded way too stupid to be real, even to Mista, but still. It was better than the alternative.
He vaguely wondered why he hadn't admitted that he wasn't asleep. After all, who the fuck passes out that quick? He was good at falling asleep but not in seconds. But if he had shown any sign of listening to them… well, they probably wouldn't have talked about that. And that would mean Giorno wouldn't have found out either, and Giorno, of all people, was the one who needed to know that.
Mista was broken out of his thoughts when he felt Five finally take action with the bullet he'd given the Pistol. The sound of shouting drew his attention to the front of the helicopter where-
Where Giorno burst through the front window, Gold Experience's arms out in a defensive stance as blood spewed out of the blond's body.
Before he could even get too worked up (which was quite the feat, considering his heart felt like it was gonna stop when he saw that), he realized what Five had done when a bullet shot after Giorno and impaled his hand, a tree instantly sprouting back to the helicopter and stopping the boy mid-fall.
Everything that followed happened so quickly that Mista wasn't even sure what had really gone down. But maybe that was just the blood loss because it had been getting progressively harder to focus his vision and his hazy mind with every passing second now.
One moment, Giorno was running across the tree branch, the next, he was falling as that ugly green mold sprouted across his toned body, and then it was vanishing as the blond continued to fall.
Mista was terrified that he might've missed the roof and fallen off the building until he heard Five's shrill voice yell, "Y-You got him! I can't believe it, Giorno!"
Oh thank God. Mista breathed a sigh of relief and stopped craning his neck to try to catch a glimpse of the blond when he noticed the fair-skinned hand clinging to the rooftop. It was over, huh. As he thought that, he could feel his body relaxing despite the feeling that something was still off. What was-
Pistols. They were still missing.
Fuck, he couldn't stay conscious anymore; there was a pool of blood surrounding his body now and even when he opened his eyes, black spots danced across his vision.
'I'll… leave it to you… Giorno.'
Mista awoke to a voice he recognized as Five's even though he couldn't quite tell what the words were.
His head was pounding and the injuries crisscrossed across his body throbbed with each beat of his heart but he felt whole again. Which meant all the Pistols were alright. Giorno really had done it after all.
When Mista tried to sit up to seek out the blond, he winced, hand flying to his head with a groan as he propped himself against the ledge surrounding the outside of the roof.
"Mista?"
Giorno's voice was soft, gentle, and Mista looked up to see the boy kneeling beside him with an expression of concern on his face.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I-" Mista broke off, the back of his throat feeling like sandpaper for some reason and he coughed a few times.
"The fuck?" he rasped.
"I thought as much," Giorno said and Mista lifted his head to stare at the blond in confusion. "His arm grabbed your throat. He intended to use you against me. Here, let me-"
Giorno paused as he reached out to brush his fingers against Mista's neck. 'Fuck, why is that so damn sexy, he's just fucking healing you, get it together,' Mista reminded himself as he willed down any untoward feelings that sprung up because of that touch. There'd be plenty'a time for touching later.
A second later (after it felt like it was getting ripped out), Mista's throat felt good as new and he rubbed his hand over it before grinning at Giorno. "All good," he said, flashing the blond finger guns and a wink.
"Really?" Giorno asked and Mista could tell by his tone that he was going somewhere with this. "Is that why you're still sitting in a puddle of your own blood?"
"I got extra, that's all."
Giorno cocked an eyebrow, whether in amusement or disbelief, Mista couldn't tell. Knowing him, probably both. The boy reached out to place a hand on Mista's shoulder and Gold Experience began to heal him and Giorno launched into a lecture.
"Mista, the human body only has up to five liters of blood. Losing one of those is more than enough to send the body into shock, let alone however much…" Giorno gestured to the blood-stained roof, "this is. You're lucky no permanent damage occurred; it's a wonder you could move at all - which was an idiotic thing to do, by the way."
"How'd you know I could move?"
"I saw you lift your head," Giorno answered amidst the sound of Gold Experience warping fragments of the roof into skin and blood vessels. "You should never move when you're bleeding out; it increases the flow, making you lose blood more rapidly. You should have just stayed still on the ground, there was nothing interesting or important for you to see anyways."
"You're important," Mista objected, wincing as the blond's Stand moved to the worst of the wounds on his torso after finishing healing his limbs. "What if somethin' went wrong?"
"You couldn't move Mista; what could you possibly have done?"
"I dunno, something," the gunman pouted. Leave it to Giorno to somehow put himself down even after he'd managed to defeat a guy who could turn people into rotting corpses if they so much as stepped down, for fuck's sake. "I woulda figured it out. No way I would've done nothing, bleeding out's just a minor setback, Giorno. Way too small to stop a guy as cool and amazing as me."
That got a small smile out of the blond as he finished with the last of Mista's injuries before moving onto himself. And really, he shoulda healed himself first, it was obvious his right hand was broken by the way he was cradling it to himself, and Mista hadn't missed the way he awkwardly sat like he was trying to avoid pushing his ribcage the wrong way.
"Just be more careful next time?" Giorno asked. He paused for another moment before adding, "When Pistols disappeared and you started bleeding everywhere… I was very worried. It was frightening."
Mista's smirk softened and he reached to ruffle Giorno's hair, much to the blond's dissent as he swatted Mista's hand away. Mista laughed as he conceded, "Fine, fine. But you better do the same, okay?"
Giorno didn't reply but Mista wasn't stupid enough to push it. If the guy wouldn't agree, then that just meant Mista would need to step up his game to protect Giorno himself. He'd take a bullet for Giorno - hell, he already had. When compared to Giorno, even dying seemed insignificant.
"We need to-" Giorno said, breaking off to suck in a deep breath. "That's much better," he muttered, rolling his shoulder and stretching his arms over his head before he continued.
"We need to get to the coliseum."
That surprised Mista; it wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Shouldn't we go after Bucciarati?"
"For now, making it to the coliseum and meeting that person is more important," Giorno objected, his green gaze shifting to the street below where the capo had last been. "Bucciarati can handle himself."
"But isn't he practically-"
Shit, Giorno wasn't supposed to know he knew.
Immediately, the blond rounded on him with a scrutinizing gaze and a dark frown. "What are you getting at, Mista?"
"Uh, I-"
"It's useless to lie to me and you know how I feel about useless things."
"…Look, you guys were just pulling my leg, right? Some kind of practical joke? Because you knew I was asleep? It ain't funny to joke about that shit, y'know, I almost took you seriously."
Mista wasn't sure if Giorno would buy that, considering he didn't really buy it either, but it was better than telling him that he had his own doubts. Those were something he didn't even want to admit to himself, and he'd much rather just act like it was all a lie. If he knew it wasn't… Mista didn't think he could focus on the mission if that was the case. He just cared too much.
Giorno was silent long enough for Mista's suspicions to deepen but then the blond said, "…Yes, although I wasn't part of it. Bucciarati almost fooled me as well, you see. It was in bad taste."
"You're tellin' me," Mista forced himself to chuckle. Fuck, he'd just believe that for now. He could deal with this shit once they were outta the fire and he didn't think he had it in him to really lie to Narancia or Fugo if they asked about it either. Hell, judging by the way he'd been acting, Fugo already knew something was up. If the kid found out, Haze would probably go out of control.
Mista had seen it once a few months back, when Narancia was returned from 'helping out' another capo's smuggling mission beaten to a bloody pulp. You could barely tell it was him after those guys had gotten through with him. Fugo's eyes had blazed red, Bucciarati had yanked Mista out of the way just as Haze roared to life behind the blond and then the boy was gone, whipping out the door like a raging thunderstorm. That smuggling group was never heard from him again.
Yeah, there'd be hell to pay if Fugo found out. And it would be worse than ever before, knowing how much he idolized and respected Bucciarati.
"So," Mista cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "The Coliseum. Mystery man. What's the plan, boss?"
"I'm not-" Giorno seemed to think better of arguing the title and just sighed. "I'll take Coco Jumbo and head to the Coliseum. You tell the others about the change in plans. I'm concerned about Bucciarati, so I plan to keep an eye out for him. Cioccolata's phone rang earlier and-"
"Wait, wait, Cioccolata?! That crazy asshole?! That's who we fought?!"
"I- yes?"
"Holy shit," Mista breathed, heart speeding up just at the thought of that psychopath.
"Did you know him, Mista?"
"I met him once," Mista explained, remembering that guy's creepyass stare like all he saw was a toy to play with and not an actual person. "Was doing extra security for a big meeting the Boss was holding a couple months ago with my… my ex-partner. Cioccolata was there as one of the attendees. The guy was a fucking nutjob."
"You had a partner?" Giorno asked, and Mista was a little surprised that was what the boy had chosen to focus on. Well, Cioccolata was dead so what did it really matter now if he was crazy or not?
"Yeah, a guy named Rigatoni. Stubborn old bastard; I never got along with him. We just got paired together since we both used gun Stands. He's retired now."
"You didn't like him… I see." Giorno sounded oddly pleased about that but Mista figured he shouldn't question that. Giorno would just deflect anyways.
"Yeah. You mighta liked him though. He had a weird respectable side, just like you."
"How dare you call me weird," Giorno objected with a small smirk across his face. "It's perfectly normal to try to be upstanding."
"Not in the mafia, dude."
"That will change when I take over," Giorno said and Mista had to admit, he was probably right. Plus the idea of working under Giorno made Mista strangely excited. "Anyways, you should let the others know what's going on. We've already wasted too much time."
"Right," Mista agreed. "There's plenty'a time to tell you about Rigatoni later."
"You don't-"
"Please, Giorno. You couldn't look more curious about it."
Giorno looked away as his cheeks flushed a light pink color and he pushed Coco Jumbo towards Mista.
"Get in the turtle already."
"Yeah, yeah," Mista grinned, reaching out to allow the Stand to get sucked in. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Giorno had sorta seemed jealous about Rigatoni. Which meant Mista would have to be sure to reassure him that he'd rather die than have anything romantic to do with that dickwad.
When Mista entered the turtle, he was assaulted by a loud chorus of questions from pretty much all of them. Bucciarati had only allowed himself, Giorno, and Mista to enter Roma and fight against Cioccolata and Secco. Abbacchio had wanted to help but the capo had adamantly refused. The white-haired man hadn't fully recovered yet, barely able to walk by himself on unsteady legs that winded him way too easily. Giorno had said it was because he'd had to create one of the man's lungs pretty much from scratch, so it would be awhile before it was strong enough to support Abbacchio.
Trish had promised to watch over Narancia and Fugo was going to go with them, although Mista had noticed the reluctance in his eyes, likely because he didn't want to leave Narancia. That had changed when Narancia had grabbed onto Fugo's hot pink suit when the blond had made to follow after them. Narancia had instantly pulled back, his face bright red from the clearly unconscious action, but Bucciarati had quickly told Fugo to stay with the others. When the blond had tried to protest, Bucciarati insisted it was because Haze wouldn't be able to help them without endangering the others but they all knew that wasn't why. Fugo had told them all that he'd learned to control Purple Haze during the fight with Castagna; he was staying because of Narancia. And to be honest, he hadn't looked too upset about it.
Trish had then said she'd go to help them but Bucciarati had shot that down before she'd even gotten the full sentence out, saying that it was too dangerous and that Trish needed to stay with the others where she could be protected. Mista had managed to stop her from getting too pissed by whispering that it was really because Bucciarati wanted her to protect everybody else since Narancia and Abbacchio were out of commission and Fugo couldn't fight in close quarters. Trish hadn't really bought it but she'd at least agreed to stay behind.
No one had really been happy about not getting to help and now Mista had to deal with it.
"Are you alright?!" Trish was saying frantically as she grabbed his left arm to examine it. "You're covered in blood!"
"Well I'd say it ain't mine but," Mista chuckled. "Giorno fixed me up all good."
"So you're not hurt?" Fugo asked. He hadn't left Narancia's side on the couch but there was concern in his violet eyes. "We saw blood hit Coco Jumbo and…"
His voice trailed off as Mista looked up to see that there was indeed a splatter of blood streaked across the red gemstone window of the turtle, dark and blotchy.
"It was Cioccolata and Secco," he explained, deciding it was better to just be blunt. Trish and Narancia looked confused but Mista heard Fugo's sharp intake of breath and saw the furious scowl across Abbacchio's face.
"You better tell me that bastard is dead," Abbacchio growled, purple-gold eyes narrowed.
"It was really all Giorno," Mista confessed. "He went all psycho on that guy apparently. Didn't wanna tell me but Five told me everything that happened. Giorno probably killed him fifty times over."
"Good," Fugo said. "It's what he deserves."
"I didn't know you guys knew him," Mista said. "Thought I was the only one who did. Even Bucciarati never met him before."
"You really think I'd ever let Bruno meet that guy?" Abbacchio scoffed. "Hell no. Fugo and I were more than enough when his… skills were needed."
"Who's Cioccolata?' Narancia asked.
"You don't need to know," Fugo immediately replied, reaching out to rest his against Narancia's shoulder when the brunet looked like he wanted to argue. Narancia pouted but kept quiet and once again, Mista marvelled at Fugo's ability to tame that guy. He wondered if what he'd said to Nara earlier had anything to do with it.
"So?" Abbacchio said and Mista looked over at him. "Where are those two?"
"Giorno's heading to the Coliseum," Mista explained. "He sent me back in here to tell you guys what was going on."
"And Bruno?"
"…We don't know where Bucciarati is," Mista said finally. Just get it out in the open, no point in lying to Abbacchio. "He sent Giorno and I to fight Cioccolata while he dealt with Secco. By the time we'd finished, both Bucciarati and Secco were nowhere to be found."
"Then why the hell aren't you looking for him?" Abbacchio growled, sitting up from where he'd been reclined in one of the armchairs.
"Giorno thought it was better to proceed with the mission. I agreed with him."
"Of course you did," Abbacchio hissed. "Why wouldn't you agree with the golden boy? You're deluded by that fucking crush you have on him, you're a fucking idiot."
"That's not- that has nothing to do with this," Mista protested.
"So you just decided to abandon your capo because a pretty blond boy said so?! You're forgetting who you owe your freedom to, Mista. Who saved you. That brat Giorno has been nothing but trouble, he's probably been aiming for this from the start!"
Mista was going to interject but Abbacchio continued and he felt anger begin to bubble up inside him.
"Bruno was just a stepping stone, maybe he's the one who attacked Bucciarati, we don't even know if everything that prick has said is right! Bruno was in the perfect position for Giorno to get rid of him and take over, of course he wouldn't go after him, that little fucking brat has never-"
"SHUT UP!"
Silence filled the room, the other four staring at Mista in shock where he stood just centimeters from Abbacchio, fist slammed against the arm of the chair where the man sat and an expression of anger across his features.
Hell, Mista was surprised at himself, he'd never really yelled at anyone on the team like that before. It was just, Abbacchio kept insulting Giorno and kept saying such bullshit that Mista just didn't want to hear it anymore.
"Calm down, both of you." Fugo had gotten up to insert himself between the two of them, hand on Mista's chest as he eased the gunman back. "Abbacchio, I know that you don't really mean any of that. Bucciarati will be fine. You trust him, right?"
"…Of course I do," Abbacchio muttered and this time he just sounded tired. "He just… he shouldn't be left alone like that. I don't like it."
And that made sense, especially seeing as Abbacchio knew something was wrong with Bucciarati. Mista didn't know how much he knew but clearly it was enough to be weighing on the man more than what had happened to himself.
"Fugo's right," Trish spoke up softly. "I know you're both worked up but you're acting immature. Yelling about things won't solve anything."
"…I'm sorry," Mista said finally, stepping back as he took a deep breath to calm his nerves that had been rubbed raw. "I shouldn'ta lost my temper but still. I'm worried too but so is Giorno. Don't talk about him like that. Not in fronta me."
"…Whatever," Abbacchio growled, crossing his arms over his chest. 'It's not like I meant it."
That was as good an apology as Mista was gonna get so he nodded his head awkwardly. He and Abbacchio made eye contact before both of them looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, Mista saw Fugo shake his head minutely with a sigh.
"I'm sure Bucciarati will be at the Coliseum," Fugo said. "Secco is no match for him. Meanwhile, we just need to wait and believe in him. And no in-fighting. I know you're older than me Abbacchio but you're forgetting who's in charge right now. Giorno is right; Bucciarati would want us to go on without him, regardless of what's happening to him."
Abbacchio scowled but didn't reply. Fugo looked strained as Narancia appeared at his side and rested a hand against the small of the blond's back.
"Nara, you should be resting," Fugo murmured gently even though he pressed against the brunet's side like he fit there perfectly and Mista felt like that was just so intimate that he should look away.
"I'm gonna go join Giorno," he declared, adjusting his beanie so his bullets were easier to reach. "We'll tell you guys when we make it to the Coliseum, yeah?"
Fugo nodded. "I'll leave it to Giorno's judgement if you happen to see Bucciarati on the way there. And before you argue, we both know you're too headstrong to make rational calls, Mista. You get too heated up."
"Yeah, fine," Mista muttered even though he knew it was true.
"Be careful, Mista," Narancia piped up and Mista glanced back to grin at the younger boy.
"Always am."
