This one ended up really long LOL. But it deals with mad scientists and horror, so we can count this one as a Halloween fic as well :P Also I really enjoyed writing a Fugo and Melone team-up. I think they work well together.
cw: for body horror and human experimentation.
Losing All Control
Day 23: At the End of Their Rope
(tied to a table, "hold them down")
Bucciarati stared out at the docks, the light night breeze stirring his hair. So far, no indication of anything odd.
The others were a little further down looking through the stacks of containers. This was the site of a rash of recent disappearances; too many to be normal. Bruno had begun to suspect a trafficking ring, but there was still something about the whole situation that seemed off. Especially when you added in the strangely mangled corpse that had been pulled out of the river two days ago. It was all very odd and Bruno was determined to get to the bottom of it.
The sound of a footstep caught his ear nearby and he glanced over his shoulder, instantly on the alert. His team would have announced their presence.
He summoned Sticky Fingers to be at the ready and stepped around the corner.
Only to run into a tall figure dressed in black who was just as surprised and wary to see him there as Bruno was.
"Nero," Bruno said, cautiously eyeing the leader of the hitmen.
"Bucciarati," the other man replied, staring back. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Bruno said firmly. "Tell me, did you recruit a new member recently?"
Risotto huffed out a snort. "You're asking if that corpse was ours and you'd be wrong. The strange deaths and disappearances have caught our eye too, especially since a lot of them were members of Passione; Stand users—I'm sure you're aware."
Bruno nodded in confirmation. "So, you're investigating too?" he asked cautiously.
Risotto pressed his lips together. "I don't like the idea of unknown attackers in the city. I take care of my team too."
Bucciarati inclined his head understandingly. "I know. So perhaps we should team up?"
"It will make the search go more quickly," Risotto admitted.
Bruno pulled out his phone. "I'll call my team to make sure they don't assume you're hostile."
Risotto grunted, but suddenly held up his hand before Bruno could dial Giorno's number. "Wait."
"What is it?"
"I thought I heard—"
There was the rattle of a metal can and Bruno spotted an object rolling across the ground toward them.
"Sticky Fingers!" he shouted, but before his Stand could create a pocket for the can to roll into, it exploded in a cloud of cloying smoke.
Bruno gagged and could hear Risotto coughing as well. His eyes were watering, but the smoke was so thick that he couldn't breathe. Sticky Fingers was also unreachable.
Bruno collapsed to his knees, feeling like he was suffocating. The last thing he saw before he passed out was a shadowy figure walking through the smoke.
XXX
Bruno woke groggily, throat raw, eyes swollen. He vaguely remembered the smoke, and was instantly on the alert, unsure as to what exactly had happened but knowing it wasn't good.
As he tried to move, he found he was not able to. That he was, in fact, strapped to some sort of metal table.
He tugged at the restraints, but they were tight and there was something that was inhibiting him from using Sticky Fingers.
A groan from nearby alerted him to another presence and Bruno glanced over to see Risotto also strapped to a table beside him. The hitman's eyes blinked open, tensing instantly as he tugged at the restraints, hands clenching into fists.
"It's no good," Bruno croaked as Risotto turned his head to look at him. "Whatever that was has inhibited my Stand."
Risotto stared up at the ceiling as Bruno looked around the dimly lit room. It seemed to be some sort of laboratory, but for what purpose he shuddered to guess.
A door opened to one side of the room and a figure walked in, putting them both on the alert. "Ah you're awake. Good."
"Who the hell are you?" Risotto demanded. "You do know who we are, right?"
The figured stepped into the light, revealing a thin, almost gaunt, middle-aged man with long hair tied back, and yellow tinted glasses perched on his nose. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the lab coat he was wearing.
"Of course. Risotto Nero, and Bruno Bucciarati. Two of the most powerful Stand users in Passione. You'll be perfect subjects for my experiments."
Experiments? Was that why this man was kidnapping Stand users? To try and experiment on them? What on earth could he possibly be trying to achieve with that?
"But I suppose it's rude of me not to have introduced myself," the man continued, placing a hand on his chest with a flourish. "Doctor Stefano Ortica. I thank you for furthering my research."
"I fail to see where we agreed to further anything," Bruno grunted, again tugging on his restraints.
Ortica gave him a predatory look. "All scientific advancements need a little unethical push, Bucciarati. Nothing would have ever been discovered without people like me."
"What exactly is it that you're doing here?" Risotto demanded.
"Evolution," Ortica said grandly. "The next evolution of Stand Users, to be exact. I heard rumors about that arrow, what it could do. But since the Don seems unwilling to share that power, then it's up to the rest of us to come up with a way to make Stands that can combat the naturally overpowered ones."
Bruno frowned. "And how do you think you're going to do that exactly?"
"The power of science, my dear Capo," Ortica said with a dark glee. "Which you will be experiencing for yourself very soon."
He stepped over between the two tables, glancing between his captives. "Who wants to volunteer for the first try?"
They glowered up at him.
"No? I promise you that I have already worked out all the kinks. It's perfectly safe." He sighed at their continued defiance. "Very well, make me play the villain, I suppose. You'll understand once you see what my potion is actually capable of." He raised a hand. "Bad Medicine!"
A Stand materialized behind him, thin, wasplike features. One of its hands was formed like a needle that dripped a glistening drop of some unnamed fluid.
"Administer the serum."
Bruno could only watch as the Stand spun to face him. A second later, the needle was jabbed into his neck, releasing the serum into his body.
The rush of it made him woozy at first, and then the first wave of pain hit.
Bruno couldn't help the sharp cry that escaped his throat. It felt like his body was on fire, liquid flames burning through his bloodstream.
"Let's see how this reacts when applied to more powerful Stand users," Ortica said.
Bruno was barely aware of him releasing the straps that held him to the table. The pain was only increasing.
He rolled off the table and collapsed on the ground with a scream of agony. It felt like his body was literally being torn apart.
He was vaguely aware of Risotto also experiencing a similar agony, crawling across the floor as if to find an exit.
Bruno's vision blurred, back arching as he felt something tear out of him. His suitcoat ripped and he looked down at his hands. He could only see Sticky Fingers's hands in place of his own. What did that mean?
The creak of a door opening caught his attention and his head snapped up. He could distinguish little in this state, but he saw several figures stumbling into the room, glowing with Stand aura.
For some reason that sent an unmitigated rage crashing over Bruno and he was on his feet in an instant, rushing toward them. He barely registered the screams. All he could think of was how much he wanted blood.
XXX
Bruno didn't know how much later it was when he became aware of himself again. He was lying slumped in the corner of the room he and Risotto had been captive in. His body ached, and his suit was torn in multiple places. He also had the distinctive taste of blood in his mouth.
Bruno looked down at his hands and saw them coated in blood, more of it packed under his fingernails.
What the hell…?
A deep groan alerted him to Risotto who was pushing himself up onto his elbows from across the room. He also was smeared in blood, but little of it looked like it was actually his.
"What the hell was that?" he grumbled.
Bruno still stared at his hands, before he looked around the room again. They were the only ones there, but there were smears of blood on the floor and neither of them seemed to have any injuries bad enough to lose that much.
"I don't know," he said hesitantly. "But I think we need to figure out some sort of escape plan quickly."
A light came on behind a panel of glass on the wall, revealing a one-way window, Doctor Ortica sitting behind it.
"Very good! Those other Stand users posed no threat to you at all!"
Other Stand Users? Bruno glanced at the smears of blood on the floor again and the corresponding stains on his clothing and hands. He vaguely remembered other people in the room briefly before everything faded to black. Or rather, red.
Risotto staggered to his feet. "What the hell did you do to us?" he demanded.
"I told you, didn't I? Evolution," Ortica said. "Now that I know my serum is reliable, it's time to see just how well it works under more… extreme circumstances."
Bruno shared a look with Risotto. He had no idea what that meant, but he was certain that they were in a very bad position right now.
XXX
Fugo walked out of the hospital lobby, both relieved, and also worried. On one hand, at least Bucciarati wasn't in a coma somewhere, but that had been one of the better options they'd come up with. It had been three days since he'd disappeared the night they were hunting for information at the docks. It was only to be assumed he had become one of the victims of recent disappearances, but when all they had to go on was one corpse that had been dragged out of the canal, things didn't look good.
Fugo clutched his phone in his pocket, hesitant to call Abbacchio. The older gangster had gone looking in the city morgue. Fugo wasn't eager to hear if he had found anything there. He would call Giorno instead.
He was about to do just that when he ran into a figure as he was going through the door without looking.
"Sorry," he muttered quickly, before he suddenly took stock of who it was.
Lavender hair half hiding a sheer mask; leather jacket and messenger bag worn over a body suit. It was Melone.
"Oh, hello, Fugo."
"What are you doing here?" Fugo asked suspiciously, eyeing up the hitman.
Melone glanced past him toward the door. "Looking for someone."
Fugo firmly plated himself in front of the door before the other man could get past him into the hospital lobby. "Who?" he demanded firmly.
Melone sighed. "If you insist on knowing, Risotto's missing. He went out on an info gathering mission the other night and never came back. Know anything about it?"
Fugo frowned. That was odd. Had Risotto been out there the same night they had been?
"What was he looking into?"
"The Stand user disappearances," Melone told him.
Fugo exhaled slowly. "Then I don't think you'll find him here."
"Why not?"
"Because Bucciarati is also missing," Fugo snapped. It might not be the best idea to tell anyone from La Squadra that, but they'd found no leads yet, so maybe some more eyes would be a good thing.
"Oh?" Melone asked, raising his eyebrows.
"If Risotto went missing the same time, they could have been captured by the same person," Fugo said.
Melone glanced around before turning back to Fugo, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Look, we haven't been able to find anything, and you seem to be in the same boat. What do you say we put our heads together? Might have a better chance of figuring this out."
Fugo pressed his lips into a thin line. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of working with Melone, but he wanted Bucciarati back as soon as possible.
"Fine," he acquiesced. "There's a café down the street; we can talk there."
Melone nodded and they started off toward the café.
As they passed by an alley, something caught Fugo's attention and he stopped, turning.
Melone stopped a couple paces later, looking back. "What is it?"
"I don't know," Fugo frowned. "I thought I saw something."
Melone cocked his head to one side and moved toward the alley. "Let's check it out."
Fugo followed warily before he heard a strange, metallic sound from up ahead.
"Wait!" he reached out to grab Melone's arm, but it was too late.
A smoke bomb rolled out from behind a dumpster and suddenly they were both gasping for breath. Fugo collapsed, choking, trying to keep a failing grip on consciousness as a pair of shoes stopped in front of his face.
XXX
Fugo came to with a groan, blinking bleariness out of his eyes. For a second, he thought he might have gotten hit with his own Stand, but then remembered the smoke bomb. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around.
Melone was also stirring from where he lay a few feet away. The room they were in was bare, concrete floors and walls. Where the hell were they?
"Ugh," Melone grunted as he rolled on his back, looking around the room. "Not the most exciting place I've woken up in. Not the worst."
Fugo ignored him as he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling toward the outline of a door in one wall. There was no way to get out of it from this side though.
"This must be what happened to the other Stand users," Fugo muttered, trying to fight back the growing panic. If they were just two more victims, then what the hell good were they going to do?
Melone sat up, folding his legs, and rolled his neck and shoulders. "Well, on the bright side, maybe we'll find out what happened to Risotto and Bucciarati."
Fugo made a sound of disgust as he continued looking, before kicking the door. He could try summoning Purple Haze, but there was no way he could let his Stand go punching this door when they were in such close proximity.
Before he could think of anything else, the door started shifting and he jumped back, fists clenched, ready for anything. Melone was on his feet too, cautious.
A man in a lab coat appeared, a Stand looming behind him.
"Ah, awake, are we? Good. I won't have to postpone my next experiment."
"Who the hell are you?" Fugo demanded.
The man smirked with a shrug. "Doctor Ortica, but my name isn't important now, at least not to you."
"Then why did you bring us here?" Melone asked.
"For now, you're noting but lab rats—part of my experiment," Ortica said. "You see, I'm working on creating super Stand users. Perhaps one day I'll sell the idea to Passione for bodyguards—especially since it appears that even the previous Don's private squad did little against a capo and a bunch of children."
"Super Stand users," Melone repeated, actually sounding rather intrigued. "And how have you done that?"
"With a lot of scientific experimentation," the man said. "But I've finally managed to make a stable version of the serum, and you two will be able to witness it soon enough." He started out of the room again. "You'll have to let me know later how it feels to be part of such a monumental scientific breakthrough—if you live that long anyway."
"What the hell does that mean!?" Fugo demanded. "What are you going to do to us?"
The door shut behind the man and Fugo slammed a fist into it, fury, desperation, and panic vying for attention inside him.
"Easy, Pannacotta," Melone said.
"That's Fugo to you," Fugo snapped. "And in case you haven't noticed, we're in deep shit right now."
"Oh, I've noticed, but getting angry about it isn't going to help anything; cool off before you lose your head," he said matter-of-factly.
Surprisingly, that helped, maybe because it reminded Fugo of the kind of thing Bucciarati or Abbacchio would have told him. He took a deep breath and tried to calm the panic, pushing it back down.
"Now, let's think," Melone said. "He didn't seem to be with anyone. We don't know the power of his Stand, but if he's alone here, then we might be able to overpower him if he comes back."
"And how exactly do we do that?" Fugo asked grudgingly. "We still don't know if Bucciarati and Risotto are here, or even what he's done to them. With all the disappearances, we can't be the only prisoners here."
Before Melone could reply, the door was disengaged, and seemed to swing open on its own. They both turned to look at it.
"Well, that's a little worrying," Melone said blandly.
Fugo frowned as the hitman stepped forward.
"Wait," Fugo said. "It's probably a trap."
"Oh, definitely," Melone said. "But what kind is the question."
The room the door led to looked like another, larger cell, but this one had very conspicuous rusty stains on the floor. Melone crouched and scratched at one with a fingernail.
"Hmm, well, that does look a bit garish."
"Is that seriously all you have to say about it?" Fugo demanded.
A door on the other side of the room opened then, and Fugo forgot everything else at the sight they were suddenly confronted with.
At first Fugo thought it was some horribly corrupted version of Sticky Fingers, but the figure was still wearing Bucciarati's suit—torn and bloodstained, but obviously his. Was it…Bucciarati then? Somehow fused with his Stand?
Behind him loomed another horrific figure, all pale skin and stitches, the only recognizable feature that marked him as Risotto were his red and black eyes.
"Holy shit," Melone croaked. "Boss?"
"Bu-Bucciarati," Fugo gasped out, instinctively taking a step back in horror.
Both figures' heads shot up, looking directly at them. Bucciarati's eyes might be currently covered by Sticky Finger's helmet, but he appeared to stare directly into Fugo's soul.
Fugo wasn't ready for him to leap forward, raising a fist for a punch.
"Shit!" Fugo gasped, leaping back, just barely avoiding the blow. Risotto was on Melone in a second, hands melding into blades, swinging them with deadly precision at his teammate.
"Bucciarati, it's me, it's Fugo!" Fugo tried desperately as he just barely dodged the blows this horrible form of Bucciarati was raining down on him. Was he even in there still?
He was distracted by Melone getting flung into a wall before Risotto clamped his hand around Melone's throat, choking him.
"Use your Stand!" Melone croaked to Fugo.
"I can't!" Fugo snapped. "If I use Purple Haze in here we all die! Why don't you use yours?!"
Melone managed to slip from Risotto's grasp, only to gain a slice across his stomach. Blood spattered on the ground as he grunted. "Baby Face isn't good for these kinds of situations. The Juniors are the only combat useful part and they have a gestation period!"
Fugo darted to one side, but Bucciarati's (or Sticky Finger's?) fist slammed into his shoulder, opening a zippered wound on his upper arm. Fugo cried out as blood dripped down his sleeve.
Bucciarati seemed to be only enticed by the blood. He launched himself at Fugo, going for his throat. Fugo was terrified of losing his head entirely and dodged, just barely. Bucciarati's hand snagged his ear, ripping the earring he wore right out with a spray of blood.
Fugo screamed in pain, tripping and falling flat on his face as he tried to scramble away.
Someone grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him up. He fought before he realized it was Melone.
"Come on!" the hitman said, urging them both back to the cell they had woken up in. Fugo ran after him and they got inside, doing their best to slam the door as Bucciarati and Risotto barreled toward them, growling furiously.
"Close it!" Fugo cried as they desperately fought to close the door without the access to a latch on their side.
By some luck, Bucciarati and Risotto simply slammed into the door in their seemingly animal rage, and it shut by itself. Fugo and Melone staggered back as the furious pounding continued on the other side before it finally seemed to slow down, and there were screams of pain from both of their pursuers before everything finally fell silent.
Fugo just stared at the door for a long moment. He really hadn't known what to expect, but this certainly hadn't been it.
XXX
Bruno dragged himself out of unconsciousness again, head pounding, sick to his stomach. He actually heard Risotto vomiting on the other side of the room and hoped he wouldn't be joining him shortly.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, body in agony, as the door opened again and Ortica strode in, a gleeful look on his face.
"Oh my, that was brilliant! Absolutely no hesitation at all."
Bruno stared at him. "What do you mean?" he croaked, throat so raw it hurt.
Ortica was writing in a notebook. "And no memory at all, interesting. I'll admit, I really didn't think I could get it to override one's senses so well, but it seems to have worked better than I expected."
"Quit yapping and tell us what you mean by that," Risotto growled, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, before he realized there was blood on it, and cringed.
Ortica gave him a sly look. "Are you sure you really want to know? Maybe you should ask your teammates instead."
Bruno felt a deep uneasiness settle into his stomach. He flexed his hands, and realized one was clenched in a fist, something digging into his palm. He slowly pried his fingers open and saw a small object covered in blood. He didn't recognize what it was at first, but as he brought it closer to his face, rubbing some of the blood away with his thumb, horror began to dawn on him.
It was a small metallic strawberry. He'd seen it many times. It was Fugo's favorite pair of earrings, after all.
"You—what did you make me do, you bastard?" Bruno demanded, surging to his feet, ignoring the wave of vertigo that crashed over him as he lunged at Ortica.
The man's Stand appeared and slammed Bruno back against the wall, the non-needlelike hand gripping his throat. Bruno instinctively reached for Sticky Fingers, but instead of his Stand appearing beside him like usual, agony tore through his body, contorting as his hands morphed into his Stand's and a pure rage was swiftly overtaking his mind.
"Bucciarati!" he heard Risotto shout, as Bucciarati slammed his fist into Ortica's Stand, sending it flying backward, Ortica along with it, landing with a cry on the other side of the room before scrambling to his feet.
"Bad Medicine… the reverse serum…"
Bruno saw the needle swing toward him and caught it, wrenching it to one side with a crack.
Ortica howled, hand crushed and bleeding from the damage his Stand had taken. He scrambled to his feet, running toward the door.
"Bad Medicine, go!" he cried.
Bruno still had a death grip on the Stand though and it could no longer dematerialize. He hauled it in, hand around it's throat and squeezed.
Ortica gagged, and Bruno could see Risotto out of the corner of his eye, also shifted into some horrific thing, heading toward the fallen Stand user. Blades came from his hands and the man cowered away.
"No! Stop!"
Neither of them could have stopped if they wanted to. Bruno squeezed the Stand's throat harder, thumbs digging into its windpipe, shutting up the user before Risotto's blades ripped through his body.
Blood and gurgles were all that were left as the Stand finally disappeared.
Blood pounded through Bruno's head though, and he could smell more. Wanted it.
It was behind that door.
Bruno growled and went toward it, starting to haul it open. Risotto waited behind him in anticipation. Blood and fear assaulted his nostrils as he swung the door open and it was the best sensation in the world knowing that he was the cause of it.
XXX
Fugo sank to the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to stop the shaking. Melone looked just as shaken up, idly wiping blood from his face before pressing a hand to the deeper cut across his stomach.
"Are you all right?" the hitman asked after a second. "You're bleeding pretty badly."
Fugo finally reached up to touch his ear and cringed away, gritting his teeth. "I'll be fine." He could get Giorno to fix it once they got back home, but of course that all depended on whether they actually were able to survive.
"We need to figure out how to fix this," Melone said. "If I can get Baby Face back, then all we would need is some of their blood and I could figure out how to make an antidote."
"And how are we supposed to restrain them long enough?" Fugo demanded.
"We'll figure something out. But I'm not leaving Risotto like that," Melone said firmly.
Fugo nodded. He felt the same about Bucciarati of course. "Okay, so maybe we trap them in here? Neither of us can outfight them so we need to come up with a plan."
"Well, I have the computer, so that means you're bait," Melone told him.
Fugo gritted his teeth. "Fine. But you better be quick about this."
"Oh, don't worry, genetics and mutations are my specialty," Melone grinned briefly before his eyes shot toward the door as the sounds of struggle could be heard on the other side. He and Fugo climbed to their feet, wary.
"That doesn't sound good," Fugo muttered as Ortica's desperate voice could be heard on the other side.
"Well, at the very least, we might not have him to deal with anymore," Melone said.
There was a brief silence before their own door was pounded on. And then it was pried open.
The horrific amalgamations of Bucciarati and Risotto with their Stands stood there a second before they rushed inside.
"Fugo!" Melone cried as he dodged. "Get to the door!"
Fugo ducked under a blow from Bucciarati, and slid across the floor, racing for the door.
His foot was caught in a solid hand and he was yanked backwards, hands grabbing at his coat, ripping into the material.
Melone escaped a blow from Risotto and flew forward, body-checking Bucciarati before grabbing Fugo by the shoulder. "Come on!"
They flew to the door and slammed it shut, locking it in place.
"We have to be fast," Fugo gasped. "I don't know if Bucciarati can use his zippers in this state, but if he can…"
"Understood," Melone said and looked around. Fugo cringed at the body of Ortica lying on front of the other door in the room.
"Come on," he said, kicking the man aside. At least he had managed to unlock the door before he had been torn apart.
They came out into what was obviously the lab. Several metal tables with restraints sat in the middle and against one wall was a chemist set up. Melone hurried over to it, looking through stuff. Fugo went to a stack of papers and notebooks on a nearby desk, then saw Melone's bag slung into the chair.
"Melone," he said.
The hitman glanced over and grinned in relief. "Baby Face!" He grabbed his laptop and instantly started to tap on the keys. "Only problem now is that we need their blood."
"Actually, maybe not," Fugo mused, looking through a notebook. "He had a reverse serum. Probably a failsafe. Guess he didn't get the chance to use it."
Melone looked around. "Hopefully it's labeled."
They frantically looked around the room while the sounds of their teammates pounding in the next room in rage echoed through the lab. The very obvious sound of the cell door being forced open had them even more frantic.
"It might not be long before they get in here too, we need to hurry!" Fugo snapped.
"I'm hurrying, this man was not exactly organized," Melone gritted out, clattering bottles as Fugo went to help him.
"Here!" Fugo shouted, grabbing a tray of vials and setting it on the lab table.
Melone picked it up and put some of it into Baby Face. "I think this is it," he said in relief. "Now the problem is getting it into them."
"I don't suppose he has a tranquilizer gun lying around," Fugo muttered.
"I believe he used his Stand for that," Melone said as he pulled out several syringes. "These will have to do. Which means we'll have to get up close and personal."
Fugo pressed his lips into a worried line. "Maybe let one through at a time?"
"We might have to," Melone said. "I think it will take both of us to hold them down and deliver the serum—especially Risotto." He filled several syringes. "Hopefully this is enough. Extras to be safe." He handed several to Fugo and cautiously stepped over to the door. "Ready?"
Fugo shook his head. "I don't think ready is the right word, but we need to help them."
Melone nodded and opened the door to the pounding.
It was instantly thrown inward, leaving all hope of letting one in at a time. Melone made a stab at Risotto with one of the syringes, but the needle broke off in him before Melone could push the plunger.
Fugo would have gone to help if he hadn't been in fear of Bucciarati's assault. He put one of the tables in between them and held his hands out.
"Bucciarati, please! I know you're in there somewhere. I'm going to help you, just please, stay still for two seconds!"
"Fugo! You can't reason with them!" Melone snapped before Risotto got a hand around his throat, slamming him back against the wall. Melone's eyes rolled back in his head briefly, but he scrambled with the needles, stabbing one directly into Risotto's thigh and pushing the plunger.
Bucciarati simply leapt over the table and tackled Fugo into the ground. He fell, head slamming into the floor, breath knocked out of him. The syringes clattered from his hand.
"Melone!" he gasped, raising his arms and crossing them to catch the blows Bucciarati was raining down on him as he tried to get the man off of him.
Fugo strained for the syringe, and finally got his fingers around it, just as Bucciarati went for his throat. He jabbed it up into the man's neck with a wince and rolled over, dislodging Bucciarati as he gagged and gasped for breath, holding his throat.
There was a brief moment of silence as Fugo and Melone both staggered to their feet, staring down at Bucciarati and Risotto who were shuddering on the ground.
"Nothing's happening," Fugo said, feeling that familiar panic rise again.
"They stopped," Melone pointed out. "Maybe it just—"
A scream of nearly animalistic pain suddenly ripped from Bucciarati's throat and Risotto was soon to follow. Both of them started thrashing on the ground, the elements of their Stands slowly disappearing from their bodies, until they dissipated like they were supposed to. Fugo went to help, but Melone grabbed his shoulder.
"Don't. Just leave them for now," he said, though he also cast an obviously worried look at Risotto.
Fugo took a shuddering breath, reaching back to feel the lump forming on his head. All they could do was watch their team leaders writhe and scream in pain.
It seemed like an eternity before they stopped. Fugo couldn't take it another second and finally went to crouch beside Bucciarati, brushing the blood-matted hair back from his face.
Melone was checking Risotto similarly before he straightened up with a wince, rubbing his throat.
"I'll call the others to see if they can give us a ride," the hitman said. "Maybe you can find a medical kit so we can get cleaned up?"
Fugo nodded and reluctantly stood.
He and Melone cleaned their injuries and then did the same for Bucciarati and Risotto. By the time they were done, both men were stirring.
"Boss?" Melone asked eagerly as Risotto's eyes blinked open.
The man cringed, glancing around. "Melone? What…"
The purple-haired man grinned. "Ah, kinda a long story, Boss. Tell you later, okay?"
Risotto's eyes were on his bruised face and throat, brow furrowing further. "I did that, didn't I?" he croaked.
"Aw, Boss, don't worry about it. I don't mind getting choked all that much," Melone winked with a sort of wan smile.
Fugo glanced at Bucciarati as he groaned, rolling onto his side.
"Bucciarati?"
Bucciarati's eyes opened slowly, looking around before he met Fugo. There was brief confusion before his expression sunk. "Fugo…"
"Hey, it's all right," Fugo told him, forcing a smile. "You're okay now."
Admittedly, Bucciarati didn't look okay. He still seemed out of it and drifted back into unconsciousness.
Risotto was soon to follow and Fugo and Melone sat shoulder to shoulder, slumped against the wall with their leader's heads resting in their laps, while they waited for their teams to come pick them up.
"You know, we don't make a terrible team," Melone said with a small smile. "Next time let's not go up against our bosses though, okay?"
Fugo sighed, resting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. "Agreed."
XXX
Bucciarati came back to consciousness slowly. His head pounded, and his whole body ached. His fingers twitched, letting him know they were wrapped in bandages for the most part. He groaned and pried his eyes open, for some reason feeling there was some urgency.
"Bucciarati?"
The soft voice brought him around fully and he came to to see Fugo sitting by his bed, in the familiar surroundings of his room.
The young blond looked worried, and he also had several bruises and bandages and why did that make Bucciarati feel guilty?
And that's when flashes of memory assaulted him, forcing him to close his eyes. The laboratory. Ortica and his Stand. The painful fusing of his body with Sticky Fingers. The blood-lust and…
Fugo cowering away from him, arms raised to protect himself. The bloody strawberry earring in the palm of his hand…
"God," he gasped, sickened by the memories. "Fugo, I'm so sorry."
"No, it…it wasn't really you. It was that bastard's serum that did it," Fugo told him firmly, clenching his hands in his lap. "I don't blame you, so please don't blame yourself."
"But I hurt you," Bucciarati replied, stomach roiling at the thought as his eyes landed on Fugo's ear. It no longer had a piercing hole and there were still healing pink scars where Giorno had likely fixed it.
"Bucciarati, you were just as much a victim," Fugo said firmly. "I saw you back there. It wasn't you, no part of it was. I promise."
Bucciarati took a shuddering breath and reached up to rub his head before pulling his hand down, staring at him. "I hope you destroyed that place."
"Oh, we did," Fugo assured him firmly.
"Good," Bucciarati replied flexing his fingers. "And Risotto?"
"Back with his team."
Bruno nodded then, cautiously, not without a little fear, reached for Sticky Fingers. His Stand hovered as usual in the back of his consciousness. When he manifested him, his stand's hand appeared around his, incorporeal and transparent as it should be. Bucciarati called him out completely and the figure hovered over him on the bed.
Bruno breathed a sigh of relief and dismissed the Stand before lying back, exhausted. It seemed he really was back to normal.
"You should get some rest," Fugo told him. "I'm sure it will be a while before you recover fully. I can only imagine the strain that put on your body."
Bruno nodded, unable to protest. "Yes, well, at least the problem is over now." He looked up at Fugo and reached out, gently placing his hand on the teen's cheek, and feeling both surprised and grateful when Fugo didn't flinch away from him. "You did well, Panna."
Fugo looked down, a small smile turning his lips up. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Bruno smiled and lay back, closing his eyes. How grateful he was to have such good teammates.