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Vento Aureo SBR AU: Golden Blood

Chapter 12: Serve the Servants

"Che diavolo..." Bucciarati didn't expect a lot of things when he walked back into his house with Mista in tow. But what he did get was bearing witness to a shirtless, heavily bandaged Fugo, with a cast on his right arm and stitches above on of his eyes; and Narancia skulking in the darkest corner of the living room with Trish right behind him, patting his back half heartly with a small smile on her face. "What happened?"

"Dear God, Fugo, you look like you like hammered shit…" Mista chuckled, looking at the sorry state of his friend.

"Thanks, asshole…" Fugo mumbled as he chewed on the butt end of his half smoked cigarette.

"What had happened was when Signorina Madonna and I were looking for her missing bodyguard, some puttana jumped me using her stand, but Fugo here jumped in and destroyed a good portion of the Shopping District, killing her." ABBA explained, drinking some white wine.

"You're welcome-"

"This was after I instructed him to stay in here and take care of Narancia, because he was attacked by Oyecomova when he went out to get some food!"

"Eh- The Napoli Terrorist?" Bucciarati gasped as Mista's jaw hung wide open.

"Yeah, don't interrupt me. Anyway, Fugo opted to tie Narancia to the couch so he can go out and follow us."

"Again, yer welcome."

"Don't act so complacent, Fugo." ABBA snarled, poking Fugo's bruised, naked chest, causing the boy to hiss in pain. "I gave you a direct order, and you-"

"ABBA that's enough. You're all alive because of Fugo's insubordination. Now, why did the stand user jump you? Did we trespass on someone else's territory?" Bucciarati asked, sitting down on the couch across from Fugo and ABBA.

"No, she was looking for Trish." ABBA responded, causing Mista to tilt his head in confusion before looking at the direction of the purple haired girl and Narancia, who turned around to listen to the conversation. He didn't need to be a Fugo leveled genius to know that the girl was the aforementioned "Signorina Madonna" or "Trish."

"Why?" Bucciarati squinted his eyes, not liking where this conversation is gearing toward. The possibility of Trish being under constant threat of being kidnapped was always there as she is the daughter of the most powerful women in the entire Eastern United States, but now that someone actively attacked her twice in the span of 24 hours was troublesome.

"I don't know…"

"Well, what I know is that there's one man calling the shots. The assassin told me: 'I owe somebody my life… And he needed help…'" Fugo answered, flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the ceramic tray.

Trish paled at the news. Not only is Caligula hurt and missing, but she is also being hunted down by an anonymous foe. If they could get someone as dangerous as Spilla, someone who is on par with the likes of Fugo in combat effectiveness, then who else would be in their back pocket? What other monster is lurking in the shadows waiting for the perfect time to strike against the group just to get to her. The real question to her is what they were going to do to her if they captured her. Hold her for ransom? As a bargaining chip against her parents? Sell her-

No… Don't think of that. Bucciarati scowled with his eyes closed as he dispelled those thoughts from his mind. Narancia didn't drag her unconscious body from off the perilous midnight streets of Manhattan into his house just for her to be taken again. Bucciarati stared at Trish's face, pale, even more so from the shock of the news. I will be damned if I let her be taken. This is no longer just my responsibility; this is my goddamn duty.

"That means we can't be going out alone anymore, without the risk of getting singled out and attacked by people who are hunting Signorina Madonna down. We are going to need to start moving as a group. So that if we are attacked, we can retaliate en masse."

"Yeah!" Narancia exclaimed loudly, startling Trish, as if she completely forgot about the tan boy's existence. "If one bastardo makes the mistake of attacking us, we have 4 stand users to wipe the floor with them."

"Wait. Only four?" ABBA drawled, face glowering in discontent. "Are you singling me out because [Ring-Ring] doesn't have any offensive capabilities? Are you looking down on me, Narancia?"

"Ah- Well… Y- you, um…" Narancia's sudden understanding of the English language and skills in linguistics all but evaporated as he was turned into a scared, stuttering mess.

"Even if he didn't intend to, he still has a point, ABBA," Bucciarati came to the rescue of the tan stand user. "While I must praise your combative capabilities, you are considerably vulnerable against a direct confrontation. Remember: you only defeated Peppa by deceiving her and shooting her from behind."

ABBA scoffed. "I know, I know. I am just joking with Narancia. But I am a lot more than just the Code Breaker."

ABBA isa lot more than just the Code Breaker, they are deceptively strong. Bucciarati thinks back and knows this is best exemplified by them kicking down a large metal door with goddamn heels on, (see: Enter Gio-Jo.)

Mista decides to interject, wanting to lighten the mood. "Speaking of going everywhere as a group, one of my sisters found this place that has the most delicious hamburgers!"

Narancia immediately gasped, stars in his eyes and saliva secreting into his mouth at the thought of hamburgers, ABBA had a thoughtful expression on their face, pursuing their lips in contemplation, and Trish only furrowed her eyebrows as she had never eaten something like burgers before, as they are incredibly greasy and watching Caligula and his best friend Fuoco messily scarfing down the burgers while 14 beers did not help her opinion on it.

"Hm." Bucciarati put his finger up to his lip in contemplation. "Alright. We'll go and eat as a group, the more people, the easier it is to stave off attacks and protect her."

"Yeah, you guys have fun with that," Fugo groaned as he stood up from the couch after snuffing out his cigarette, obviously still in pain from his confrontation with Spilla.

"I am awfully tired, and I completely exhausted the Steel Balls that-" Everyone but Trish tensed up. "I can make… I am going… to bed."

"But Fugo, they serve Strawberry Cakes!" Mista called out as his blonde-haired friend walked away.

Fugo immediately turned around. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Bucciarati chuckled to himself at the antics of the boys, watching as they and ABBA walk out of the living room. He looked behind him and noticed Trish curled up into a ball, deathly pale, sweating considerably, her shiny brown eyes seemed duller than when he first laid eyes on her. He was quick to kneel down, hoping to get to her level despite the height difference between them.

"Signorina Madonna, they may seem immature, crude, and lacking in charm, but they are fighters with a heart of gold." Bruno spoke softly to the purple haired girl. "I cannot promise that you will not be in danger, but I will guarantee that we will fight to the last of our strength to defend you."

Brown orbs met Blue. Trish felt a wave of relief by just looking in the eyes of the mismatched clothed man. Bruno put his hand out for her to take, the bowl cut gangster didn't seem to care if she was the heir to Passione, he only saw another scared, lost, confused kid in need of help, and he will do everything he can to help. Only to have his hand slapped away.

Trish wordlessly stood up stiff and walked out the door to follow the others, despite this, Bucciarati's face did not falter. This was expected. She needs to remain as a stoic figure if she ever wants to take the mantle of Donna of Passione.

ABBA watched as Trish briskly passed them, wedging herself in between the lavender haired gangster and the three stooges. Bucciarati caught up to the group, opting to walk beside his partner.

"Are you sure it is wise to leave the house at all?" ABBA whispered into his ear so that Trish couldn't overhear the two.

"And then what, have Fugo and Narancia go insane from isolation? Not even I can last a few days without going outside. Besides, let them have their fun, remember, we have to let them live fulfilling childhoods."

"Mista is 18…"

"That is beside the point."

"And what about the fact that it is almost lunch time as well. I am guessing the restaurant is going to be packed, with a higher chance to be attacked from… I don't know. Anywhere?"

"Relax, ABBA." Bucciarati softly replied. "It is a hole in the wall restaurant that doesn't seem to attract a lot of attention. How packed can it get?"


"Are you kidding me?" Bucciarati deflated as he realized how packed it was. Many people were sitting at tables, talking loudly in the tight space. There were at least 50 people, not including the bus boys, servers, and cooks.

"Hole in the wall, right Bucciarati?" ABBA deadpanned.

"Asino, you lied to me." Bucciarati growled, pulling at Mista's ear repeatedly.

"Owowowowow, stop it! I didn't lie to you, my sister told me about this place. She said there was no one here when she came!" Mista whined.

"And at what time exactly did she come?"

"Uh…" Mista racked his brain, trying to remember the exact details. "8 at night?"

"Sei un imbecille." Fugo snarled, causing Mista to flinch, a bad idea. That just caused his ear to be involuntarily pulled harder by Bucciarati. "Did you lie about the strawberry cake too?"

"N- no! My sister brought some for me and my other sisters, it tasted really good!"

"You are forgiven."

Trish who was standing right behind Fugo felt the animosity surrounding the blonde-haired boy dissipate instantly, causing her to shudder.

"C'mon Bucciarati, let's just take a seat. Sure, it's packed but that just means the food here is delicious!" Narancia chirped.

"It's not that Nara…" Bucciarati let out a discontented sigh, as he scanned the room for anyone seemingly suspicious. They all seem like the run of the mill people you see generally commuting the streets of New York, sharply dressed, unlike the group no one seems to stand out, but no one seemed to notice the oddly dressed group. And if they did, they wouldn't say anything as they were in the presence of a Mafioso, and a lieutenant at that. "This is a security hazard, we can be attacked by anyone, anywhere."

The Mismatched mafioso makes a beeline for a table of six, with ABBA, Trish and the other boys following, all of their eyes weary of all nobodies, waiting to find clues, any twitches in movement that show any semblance of hostility.

Alas they don't find any.

"Oi, Bowl Cut I am talking to you, is your hair so thick that it's blocking out your hearing?" A scratchy voice grumbled, snapping Bucciarati out of his trance. "I asked you what'cha want to eat?"

I didn't even notice him. Bucciarati looked up to a man standing around 6-feet, heavy set, a big bushy monobrow that covered his eye, and a large mustache. Reeks of tobacco, day old liquor, bad cheese, and… various meats. He doesn't seem to have a kind expression, he sports the kind of look you would see men who are too tired to have any regard to human kindness, easily agitated, and not taking shit from anybody. Just an average New York City gentleman.

"I- um… Ah…" The usually articulate Mismatched Mafioso was fumbling at his words as he did not expect for the disgruntled waiter to appear from thin air. Most of the time he was on guard, always waiting to feel the presence of somebody, whether hostile or passive. The fact that someone caught him off guard that badly was worrying. "I'll have the Cheeseburger with Hash Browns, Eggs and Bacon, and a coffee for a drink."

"Breakfast at noon?" The Waiter grumbled flatly.

"I skipped mine today."

"Why cuz you were getting that two-nickel haircut done, HAH!" The rude waiter laughed loudly much to the annoyance of the boys and ABBA, noticing this Bucciarati motioned for them to not provoke the waiter further. "Anyways, what about the little lady?"

"I'll have the… ham and cheese grilled sandwich with some sparkling water." Trish responded.

"Sparkling water, eh?" The waiter grumbled as he wrote down her order in a notebook. "I tell you what. We ain't the dirty French, so we don't serve that here, what I will give you is the tap water that's directly connected to the sewer as an alternative, how does that sound? Great!" He didn't give Trish a chance to object before moving on to the next person.

Mista, ABBA, Narancia, and Fugo all placed in their order, all giving him scathing looks, but the waiter did not falter at picking apart and offending the group, he seemed to enjoy making them angry, the sadist.

"God, that bastard was unbearable," ABBA seethed, turning to Mista, who had a dead expression in his eye. "Did your sister really say nothing about the customer service in this place, or the fact this place looks like a shit hole?" ABBA noted the stains in the corners of the establishment and how dirty the floor was with food particles and dust.

"No. She just talked about how good the food is, and you know what? He looks like the type of guy who doesn't wash his hands before preparing food." Mista spoke flatly, causing everyone to grimace in slight disgust.

"Aw come on…" "That is nasty…" "Mista… Why…" Fugo, Trish, and ABBA all respectively vocalized their displeasure to his comment, with Narancia and surprisingly Bucciarati both laughing.

"And why are you laughing, Bucciarati?" Mista asked, quirking an eyebrow without shifting from his dejected slouch.

"Well… It reminded me of what my father always said…" Bucciarati chuckled softly. "'The thing that give food their flavor is how long it had been since the chef last washed his hands.'"

"Oh my god- hurk." Trish gagged at Bucciarati's words, which caused Narancia to violently wheeze as he was already laughing up a storm from the group's collective suffering, while Fugo, Mista and ABBA all do their own impressions of see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.

After many minutes of idle talking, loitering, and making fun of the establishment's state of hygiene, a new person wearing a waiter's outfit came in with the group's food, giving each their respective plates. Bucciarati inspected the new waiter. Clean shaven, nice haircut, younger, smiling, smells nice. Definitely not the impolite bastard that got their orders. Now, he was not sure if the gimmick was that 2 different people had different jobs in serving the customers, but after looking around during the wait, he noted that some tables had the same waiter ordering and serving. But just to be safe.

"Excuse me," Bucciarati got the attention of the younger waiter. "What happened to the waiter who took our orders?"

"Sfacciatio? Oh, he went to go take his smoke break!" The waiter chirped his answer before turning around and robotically walked to the back.

Bucciarati shared a look with ABBA. "Isn't it quite odd that he went to take a smoke break after antagonizing us extensively earlier?"

"Yeah, but what about the new guy? Why are we the only ones to get a different waiter?" ABBA, along with the others stared at their food with suspicion, only to stop when they heard the sounds of munching and crunching, turning to look at Narancia who took a bite of his sandwich without hesitation.

He flushed in embarrassment before clearing his throat. "What? It's been a long day!"

"One of the two waiters could have easily poisoned you!" Fugo whispered-shouted at him, with fearful eyes hidden behind his crossed scowl.

"Relax Fugo. Poisons in food are mostly fast acting, causing respiratory and cardiac failure in a few seconds." Bucciarati reassured the boy.

"Phew… That's a relief." Trish sighed, before widening her eyes in realization. "Mr. Bucciarati… how do you know that?"

Bucciarati didn't respond as he gained a sudden interest in looking at the wall. The entire group sans Bruno all began to eat away at their food. Trish, who was taking a sip of the surprisingly clean purified water, noticed that her new caretaker was not even paying attention to his food, opting to watch them all eat.

"Mr. Bucciarati, why aren't you eating?"

"I usually wait for everyone to finish eating before I start to eat." He answered matter of factly.

"Why? Your food will get cold!"

"It's a habit I picked up from my padre. He said that it is to ensure everyone else has a tasty meal first." The mismatched mafioso looked down at his plate solemnly. "I never knew why he did it, but I like to honor his memory, so I do what he did, and always eat last."

Trish felt a twinge of sadness envelope her heart. She did not expect for Bucciarati to ever seem so sad before, he is the emotional pillar to all those taken under his wing, and just seeing him sad gave her grief that she could not understand. It was as if one were watching their father cry, granted, Aceto Madonna didn't show much emotion, and any emotion he did end up expressing was plastic at best and completely hollow at worst. She didn't care much for her father at all. So why was this man that she had just met this morning making her draw comparisons to a neglectful, emotionally unavailable father that she can never bring herself to love?

Her mind comes to a screeching halt when she hears the sounds of arguing behind her.

"Aw… Ya fuckin' idiot, ya made me spill beer on me pants!" An, evidently inebriated, Irishman slurred his words to an equally inebriated baseball player (New York Highlanders?) in front of him.

"Maybe if your… dumbass didn't leave the mug on the edge of the table, it wou'nt of fallen, you… thick mick…" The baseball player garbled out with a sneer on his face.

Suddenly the Irishman had a literally red glow in his eye as his face hardened into something fierce, staring into the Baseball Player's soul. "Da fuck did'ja say, AmeriCUNT?"

The Baseball Player's face hardened as well as his eyes began to glow red. Obviously not letting the Irishman's words get to him, he grabbed the wood baseball bat from the bag beside him, and in a flash the Irishman's right cheek was smashed in with a mighty swing, blood spewing and Trish could swear she heard the orbital bone cracking.

However, the Irishman didn't even flinch, bleeding and broken and the wooden bat still wedged into his face. The glow never faltered, only turning to look at the baseball player with both eyes. The Irishman grabbed the other man's arm and snapped it over his own knee with a sickening crunch that caused Trish to recoil in shock. What in God's name?

"NARANCIA, FUGO!" Bucciarati screamed out, causing Trish to snap her head forward, watching as Bruno tried to restrain a seemingly demented ABBA from strangling Mista, looking over to the direction of the two aforementioned boys she realized that they were both beating each other stupid.

Looking around, Trish only saw utter pandemonium.

People of all shapes and sizes that were once peacefully eating and talking in the restaurant are now trying to kill each other with their bare fists. Children as young as 12 try to tear into the adults with their little hands before getting kicked like a football across the way, only for them to stand back up and try the process again.

Trish nearly jumps out of her skin as the table in front of her caves in on itself as Mista body slammed ABBA on to it. Standing above them, Mista pulls out his revolver, cocking back the hammer. He was just about to fire until [Between Buttons] was summoned to punch the pistol out of Mista's hands, with Bucciarati's physical body quickly turning the gun toting stand user to face him.

"THAT'S ABBA, WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU-!" Bucciarati screamed with anger and confusion, but his words got caught in his throat when he saw the red light emitting from his glazed over eyes.

Mista snarled at him and turned back around to continue fighting ABBA who had just gotten up from their downed position to uppercut him, of course, he didn't even flinch. Bucciarati stepped back to assess the situation, but it wasn't until a man with an obviously broken jaw skulked passed him without batting an eye at him.

Looking around, Bucciarati realized he was in the thick of it. Chaos around all of him. But… They're all ignoring me. However, following the man that passed him was a red afterimage of the same man. The bowl cut haired gangster quirked an eyebrow before looking closer at the other combatants in the establishment, realizing that all of them had a translucent image of themselves behind them, fighting off other people's images as well, with their physical bodies beating the shit out of each other.

Like their souls were locked in combat. Reflection of their souls. Almost like… Stands, oh no!

Bucciarati turned in horror and focused on his friends' stands. The [Marvelettes] were crawling all over ABBA, punching, stomping, and biting their flesh as they didn't have any bullets to deflect, into the lavender haired gangster. [Ring-Ring] sitting unceremoniously on the ground as it is absolutely useless in combat. [Snoop Dog] going absolutely balls to the walls trying to bite the jugular off of…

Oh my god…

[Spin Doctor]…

"I am awfully tired, and I completely exhausted the Steel Balls that I can make." Bucciarati felt a tidal wave of relief wash over him as he remembered those words. No need to worry about Fugo using its steel balls on anyone-

"Mr. Bucciarati!" Trish cried out, gaining the bowl cut haired man's attention. He turned to look at the Heiress who was completely unharmed, however she had a terrified expression on her face. "What's going on?"

"Stand Attack…" Bucciarati replied, barely above a whisper. "The people who ate are infected by something that turned them into mindless brutes, hell bent on killing one another…"

"Why wasn't I affected?"

"Because the Stand User wants to capture you unharmed while everyone else snuffs each other out. They've selected you to not be affected by the stand." Bucciarati pulled out his Luger P08, pulling the slide back. "We can't stay here. The faster we take out the stand user, the better."


"You know this room isn't going to hold me forever, mother!" Giorno's muffled yell came from the other side of the door. "Besides, the wood you used to board up my window is really shitty."

"Quiet, Giorno, the more you don't talk, the more time I have to listen to my own thoughts." H. P. groaned as she sat on a wooden chair facing the direction of her son's bedroom door.

"Thinking is a dangerous thing, it gives you ideas that one may call, 'intrusive-'"

"Giorno, I swear, one more word and I am going to use [Cream Starter] to shut your mouth until you become less of a chronic migraine…"

There was a moment of silence between the mother-son duo, before Giorno let out a small, "My point exactly." H. P. decided to ignore it.

What followed was at least 15 seconds of calm, serene peace and quiet, much to the older Joestar's relief. Thank the Lord. It was nice, relaxing, one may even say it was-

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring-

"OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO BEAT THE PERSON WHO CALLED ME OVER THE HEAD WITH THEIR TELEPHONE!" H. P. screeched as she stomped over to the phone, each violent step shaking the house. She ferociously grabbed the receiver. "WHAT?"

"… Well good day to you too, Hot Pants." An old, raspy voice spoke from the other side of the line.

"Oh, Steven Steel… What can I do for you…" H. P.'s fury cooled down to an annoyed, nasally tone.

"Right… So there has been a report of a supernatural event occurring at The Cow Post near Chinatown." The 70-year-old man explained.

"I see. Well, I hope you find someone to investigate." H. P. balked.

"Hot Pants…" Steven groaned, before sighing sharply. "You're the closest Operative to it. We are dealing with a large-scale stand attack, mass casualties. We need a medic who knows how to take care of themselves to deal with this. We need you there."

H. P. stayed quiet for a moment as she digested the words, letting out a scoff. "Fine. I'll be there."

"Is Gio-Jo giving you a hard time again?"

"He's grounded right now, so yes, yes he is." And with that H. P. hung up on the director of the Steel Agency. "Giorno, I am going out to deal with something, do not force yourself out of your room, do not go out through the window. Am I clear?"

There was no response from Giorno for a second. "Okay…"

H. P. was satisfied, but still gave the door leading to Giorno's room a suspicious squint. After walking down the steel spiral steps that led to the ground floor, she opened a door of a closet to grab one thing. Her old Steel Ball Run helmet. A fur cap, decorated with a single spike at its top, and a golden plated metallic brim that has one large crack going down the middle.

The crack that was a result of [Love Train] launching a large splinter of wood towards Hot Pants during her, Johnny, Gyro, and… their final assault on President Valentine during the Steel Ball Run. The shard of wood was intended for her heart, but in spite of the agony that was the glass and other shards of wood embedding into her body from the DIVINE PROTECTION of Lucy Steel's stand, she ducked at the last possible moment, hitting her in the forehead and launching her out of the train cabin.

There is not a day that goes by where she doesn't remember that day, part of her wants to forget, but another part of her doesn't. She wears it as a reminder of how lucky she was to survive, it served to remind her that God, if he existed, had other plans for her, such as having Giorno. She stared at it, marveling on how despite the years, the golden plating had not faded; her reflection still perfectly visible despite the crack running down the center. She quickly put it on her head, and stepped outside, but as she closed the door behind her, she slowly turned her head to the left…

… to find Giorno standing, leaning on a wall with a large shit eating grin on his face.

"Why…" She first said as a whisper. "Why? Why, WHY?" She ended up raising her voice higher and higher, drawing the attention of a few people passing by on the street. Looking up, she sees that the window leading into Giorno's room was still closed, and the wooden barriers, still completely intact. "HOW?"

"I turned into a fly and few in between the spaces of the wood." Giorno answered with the most emotionless face he could muster. Feeling as if he was about to get strangled to death in public by own mother he decided to jump back and explain himself. "Hey, hey, hey, I didn't mess with any of the wooden barriers, just like you told me to!"

"Sure, that's what I told you, but that isn't what I implied…" H. P. seethed through her teeth.

"O- oh. Then what did you imply-"

"TO STAY IN YOUR ROOM!"

"Ah, but you might need help on your mission, so I thought I could help!" H. P. quirked an eyebrow at her son. "I turned myself into a bat when you started talking to Uncle Steel. I heard everything, the stand attack at the Cow Post, I've been to The Cow Post, I can lead you there using the fastest route."

The older Joestar opened her mouth but was cut off again by her son, much to her annoyance. "Also, he said it is a mass casualty incident. You can't heal many people by yourself without sacrificing a large amount of skin. I am a faster and, let's face it, better healer. Also, also, I can take care of myself."

"Really? Is flying headlong into a firestorm after a gas pipe explosion considered 'taking care of yourself.'"

"But did I get hurt?"

A tense silence enveloped the two, only for H. P. to break it with an angered growl. "Fine, let's go, but we are having a long discussion about your savior mentality."

Giorno pumped a fist before running down the street with his mom behind him.


WHAM!

Bucciarati didn't have time for subtly when everyone he cares for are trying to kill each other behind him, using [Between Buttons] to bust the door down. They stepped in with Trish trailing close behind him. The muzzle of his Luger P08 is pointed carefully in front of him, as sets of eyes look around, wary of any potential threats, looking for one of two targets: the rude waiter and the young waiter, potential stand users that spiked the food of all those in the restaurant.

"Mr. Bucciarati…" Trish whispered into his ear, while pointing into a cabinet that seemed to be making whimpering noises.

The Bowl Cut gangster summoned his stand to smash the cabinet door and tear it off its hinges, completely ignoring the fact that it was unlocked, but Bucciarati was not having it, he wanted to send a message. The young waiter let out a sharp yelp before he was hauled out of the cabinet by his collar. Using one arm (and some added strength by using [Between Buttons]), he slammed the young waiter on a table, smashing it in half before sticking the barrel of the gun to his face.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE FOOD?" Bucciarati yelled in the face of the sweating waiter, pale as a sheet and scared out of his mind.

"I- I- didn't touch the food, I promise!" The waiter somehow wheezed out in between panicked grasps, closing his eyes so hard that his entire body was trembling. "I- d- d- d- don't know why- why this is happening."

"WHO SPIKED THE FOOD THEN? TELL ME BASTARO OR QUINDI AIUTAMI DIO, I WILL PAINT THE WALLS WITH YOUR BRAINS!"

"I DON'T ANYTHING!" The Young Waiter wailed out as tears spill like a broken floodgate. "I PROMISE I KNOW NOTHING, PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"

"Uh… Mr. Bucciarati…" Trish pointed down at the boy's crotch, and when the mismatched mafioso looked down and immediately knew why she did. The Young Waiter urinated himself.

The door behind the mismatched opened loudly, with the sounds of heavy footsteps and coughing. "Alright, oi, Santos, did'ya serve the circus clowns in table 6 yet or-'' It was the rude waiter that took the group's orders, his uniform now littered in cigarette ash, and the air around him is potent with smoke. "The hell is going on her- OH SHIT."

Bucciarati slammed the much bigger man onto the wall behind him, allowing the scared younger waiter to slip out of the room before anything were to happen. Sfacciatio tried to fight back but was immediately punched in the solar plexus, causing him to dry heave and slump to the ground.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE FOOD?" Bucciarati parroted his question to Sfacciatio, who only raised an eyebrow.

"Probably- probably spat in someone's food once or twice, why?" The rude waiter heaved, trying to regain his breath, not flinching at the fact that there is a gun barrel shoved into his face, he is probably used to it.

"Then tell me why everyone lost their minds, and began a goddamn riot the moment you stepped out? Huh?" Bucciarati spat.

"Riot? What riot?"

Bucciarati grabbed him by the neck and hauled him to a window that leads to the dining room, pushing his face violently against the glass. "Oh shit, won't you look at that?" He coughed out a chuckle at the sight, only to be slammed down on the same table the younger waiter pissed himself on. "Would you stop it?"

"WHAT IS YOUR STAND ABILITY, FIGLIO DI PUTTANA? BECAUSE MY PARTNER AND THE 3 KIDS I AM TAKING CARE OF ARE TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER OUT THERE! TELL ME, TELL ME!"

"LISTEN WISE GUY!" Sfacciatio screamed back at equal volume to Bucciarati's rage. "I ain't do nothing to the food, I didn't serve anyone any food the entire day. Shit, no waiter is don't see the food until we take off the lid to serve! Also, what the hell is the stand?"

"Who is the person who gives you the food to serve?"

Sfacciato gave Bucciarati the most incredulous, disbelieving look anyone could express. "Are you an idiot? Say yes, ya grape smashing bastard, because no one can't possibly be as stupid as you are."

"WHO?" Bucciarati roared, letting two bullets into the wall behind the rude, uncooperative waiter.

"Isn't it obvious? The chef!"

"And who is the chef?"

"Me…" A new voice echoed through the room.

Bucciarati turned back to see a man in a chef's uniform and an angry, red, spider-web scar ravaging his face. The man stood about average height, short, slicked back black hair, wearing red lensed goggles. Before Bucciarati could point the gun at the chef, a bullet nearly slammed into him, only being made intangible by [Between Buttons], but it still made him flinch, giving the chef enough time to close the distance.

"TRISH, RUN, HIDE!" Bucciarati cried out for the purple haired girl, who did exactly as she was told.

"Red, what the fu-" BANG! Another shot from the chef immediately silenced Sfacciatio, painting the once mildly dull white wall behind him with his brains.

Red and Bucciarati then locked themselves in combat, trying desperately to disarm and or shoot one another, however, Red was faster, stronger, better.

"[BETWEEN BUTTONS]!" Bucciarati summoned his pickelhaube wearing stand to try and punch Red in his throat, however, another arm blasted out of the imposter chef's side to intercept the gangster's stand.

The stand's arm was a crimson red, not unlike that of blood, with yellow veins that glow just below the surface, almost like lava, and there are many sets of lipless mouths scattered up the arm, showing off razor sharp teeth that had saliva flowing in between the gaps, its didn't have a hand, instead, it was a gaping maw with razor sharp teeth on the stump. [Man Who Sold The World].

Bucciarati was able to kick Red in the stomach, knocking him back a little, and with one last wrench of his arm, the imposter chef dropped the gun, getting it knocked away by the gangster's foot.

"Who is giving you orders?" Bucciarati questioned as [Between Buttons] and [Man Who Sold The World] began to grapple, revealing the full appearance of Red's stand. A humanoid consisting of only muscles, and mouths filled with teeth scattered across its body, with absolutely no face, no eye, no nose, only mouths.

"Who cares?" Red growled in response before breaking the deadlock, his stand sending a punch towards the Bowl Cut Gangster's midsection.


Giorno and H. P. busted open the door leading into The Cow Post to witness unbridled chaos occur in front of them. People broken, bloodied, both their body and literal soul fighting each other, their eyes glazed over and glowing a slight red, and completely ignoring the pair even when the affected civilians are looking for a new opponent to beat the stuffing out of. The mother-son duo glanced at each other with the same thought in mind. "Stand."

37 active fighters were severely injured, 6 dead bodies strewed the floor. H. P. and Giorno carefully traverse the battleground to find the stand user, however the blue toting bubblegum pink haired boy was grabbed by his shoulder. Snapping his head around to identify the threat he sighs in relief when he only found out that it was his mother, however, her expression seemed… troubled. She pointed at a seemingly random group, and he couldn't help but look towards the direction she was pointing.

"Is that… that Narancia kid?" She was right. Giorno's heart dropped to his stomach when he saw Narancia, Mista, Fugo, and ABBA, all fighting each other with murderous intent, not pulling any punches weather it is their fists, claws, or stands.

Without a second thought he ran towards the quartet, intent on putting a stop to their unsanctioned murder of each other. Sliding under a pair of other customers punching each other in concert he slammed a foot into Narancia's chest, knocking him to the floor, and in the split second that it happened, Giorno was on top of him, slamming down his fist into his jaw, not enough to break it, but enough to knock the tan boy unconscious.

Standing back, he slammed his elbow into both Mista and ABBA's noses, shattering it and immediately knocking them unconscious. He then turned to the one person who he was never able to get close to. Fugo. This was the first time he laid witness to the dirty-blonde's stand. The absolute cold dead eyes of [Spin Doctor]'s purple plague doctor's mask send a shiver down his spine, the aura it is exuding actually caused the normally daring Giorno to stutter in his step. Never before had he felt more unsafe in the presence of a stand than he is now.

However, before Giorno could properly process it, Fugo was already face planting into the ground, bruised and bleeding. He looked up to see H. P. looking down on Fugo. She had knocked him out by chopping him in the back of the neck.

"C'mon, we don't have a lot of time, we need to heal them before they die of shock and blood loss." His mother said in her naturally demanding voice. However, Giorno didn't move, only looking down at Fugo, sweating bullets and his crystal blue eyes were as wide as saucers. "Gio-Jo, are you okay?"

Giorno blinks twice before registering his mother's words. Gulping loudly. "Y- yeah. I'm fine," Lie. "I- I'll restrain the others…"

Giorno was not fine. There was something about Fugo that needed explaining. His undying hatred of him, his stand, the group's understanding of Spin. He needed them answered now more than ever.


Bucciarati had to admit, he was losing… Badly.

[Between Buttons] has been an integral part of his life ever since that day and is incredibly skilled with it. Training it to punch faster than bullets, harder than trains, and improved the area of effect on his intangibility, training himself, his flexibility, physical strength, and reflexes in unorthodox manners; but nothing, not one thing could have prepared him to fight Red and his [Man Who Sold The World].

It was fighting a super soldier, Red's stand, although its ability was useless in close quarters combat was much more efficient that [Between Buttons]. Red was able to navigate and use his environment better than Bucciarati, using everything in the employee's only room to his advantage. Whether it be knives, cabinet doors, the flame from the stove, or other utensils that can be considered improvised melee weapons, he had Bucciarati on the ropes. Another toothy punch sent Bucciarati slamming spine first onto a metal table, causing him to groan from the shock that fluttered throughout his entire body.

As Bucciarati tried to get up, he quickly found a blade of a culinary knife dangerously close to his jugular. Culinary kitchen knives are so razor sharp they can sever nerves, and it would take you a while to register pain in the cuts. The mismatched gangster was able to grab Red's arm before it could slash him.

[Between Buttons] desperately tried to punch Red in the face, however, [Man Who Sold The World] blocked the button stand's attack yet again, opting to instead crush the stand's neck using the two mouths in the end of both of its arms. Bucciarati was not only struggling to keep the knife away from his throat, but also struggling to breath as the red mouth stand added more and more pressure.

"W- Why?" Bucciarati gasped out.

"Don't worry about why, you and your group will die. I will find the girl and bring her back to my boss."

"Wh- Wh… Who?" Bucciarati's vision began to fade, his strength faltering, and he could feel the cold press of the knife on his throat. If he didn't die of asphyxiation now, the knife would surely do the trick. He looked into Red's eyes, obscured by his red goggles, not to try and gain a single crumb of mercy, but to show that he was not afraid of him.

Bucciarati is going… going… going…

BANG!

The pressure on Bucciarati's throat was immediately alleviated, allowing for the bowl cut gangster to take a greedy gasp of fresh air. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, Bucciarati looked down to see he was still grabbing Red's hand, the imposter chef's body now completely limp as he bled from his nose, mouth, and what reminds of his eyes. Bucciarati turned his head to the left only to find Trish, as pale as she was when she learned she was being hunted down, holding his own Luger P09 with shaky hands as smoking wafts out of the barrel.

Bucciarati let go of the now deceased stand user's arm, letting his entire body fall down with an unceremonious thunk, and after a moment of tense, very tense silence, Bucciarati decided to speak up.

"Are you okay-"

"Is he dead?" Trish's desperate cry cut through Bucciarati's words.

He groaned, laying back on the meal table in exhaustion, noting the massive bloodstain coating his black and white waistcoat, something that will be a bitch to clean out. "'s what happens when you shoot someone in the head."

"That's not funny! None of this is funny!" Trish stomped in fury and fear, clearly not appreciating Bruno's dry humor. "I JUST KILLED SOMEBODY!"

"I know… I know. Ugh…" Bucciarati sat up to meet Trish's tear laden brown eyes. "But… I was getting my ass handed to me. So, thank you for saving me." How ironic… I go on a whole spiel about how I will fight till my last breath to defend her, and she is the one who saved my life.

Trish tries to not pay mind to the corpse that she had just created. Her eyes only locked onto Bucciarati's. "Sometimes… We have to make impossible decisions, one of which being who to kill when times become desperate. It comes with the job, and it is more than true when it comes to you, Signorina Madonna."

Trish only stood there, staring. She is going to have to get used to this… Get used to seeing people die, get used to killing them herself. Her entire life will be endangered at all times if she is not strong enough to support herself. She needed to be like her mother, but she couldn't, she wouldn't be a heartless bitch caring more for material desires than her own family. Trish has already found herself falling through that pipeline, dragging Caligula in the dead of night to buy dresses she lost immediately running from whatever attacked them in that alley. She treated the only person she truly called family like shit, and now she is suffering from the consequences.

She didn't realize Bucciarati was moving again until after he carefully extracted his gun from her hands. "Come on…" He said softly. "Let's go see if the others are still alive."

Red Death's [Man Who Sold The World] Status: shot in the head by Patrizia Madonna, DECEASED!


"This is going to hurt a lot, kid. Are you ready?" H. P. said as she grabbed Narancia's arm.

"I've experienced worse Ms. Joestar, like getting blown up- AH! OH- HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD!" Narancia screamed out like a girl as Hot Pants reset his severely dislocated shoulder. "GIORNO! WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST HEAL ME WITH [GOLDEN YEARS]?"

"It would be a lot more painful for longer, Narancia…" Giorno said with his eyes closed as he concentrated [Golden Years] onto the tan Sicilian boy. "There. Your shoulder is now completely healed, along with the concussion, broken ribs, and internal bleeding!"

"Huh? Internal bleeding? Isn't that where the blood is supposed to be, inside of me?" Narancia asked as he slowly stood up, which caused the conscious Mista and ABBA to facepalm in embarrassment.

"Wow…" H. P. groaned. "What you have just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response, were you even close to anything that can be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this establishment is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul…"

She walked away to tend to the rest of the injured, leaving Narancia to blink in confusion.

"I have a feeling like I should be insulted." Narancia mumbled, patting his overall leggings off dust.

"She's had a long day." The pink haired boy responded.

"That's your mom Giorno?" Mista asked looking at the tall woman. "She's very hot- ack!" Mista choked on his own spit when ABBA karate chopped him in the throat. Giorno decided to not respond to what he had said, only turning at the sound of someone entering from the back.

"Giorno?" A bruised and bloodied Bucciarati limped with a beautiful purple haired girl supporting his weight.

"Mr. Bucciarati!" Giorno smiled, dropping it as he saw the state of the mafioso. "You look like hammered shit! Are… are you?"

"Not my blood. I-" He glanced at a still shell-shocked Trish. "Took out the Stand user that caused this mess…"

"Okay! Okay, I'll be with you in just a second. First, I need to heal Fugo-" Before Giorno can touch Fugo, he is immediately punched in the face by the prone boy, knocking him flat on his ass. "AGAIN?"

"Fuck off, Joestar…" The dirty-blonde haired boy groaned as he got up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand, the one he used to punch Giorno was already broken. He tried to stagger out of the establishment, not even giving the pink haired boy a second glance, until the Joestar forced his attention.

"HOLD IT, DICKWAD!" He screamed so loud that it gained the attention of everyone conscious in The Cow Post. "EVER SINCE I HAVE BEEN INTRODUCED TO YOU, YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT INSULT ME AND IGNORE ME, EVEN WHEN I TRY TO HELP. STOP BEING A LITTLE WHINEY AND TELL ME WHAT THE GODDAMN PROBLEM IS! UNLESS YOU ARE TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO DO SO!"

H. P. had never seen Giorno so angry before, as he is always so lax, always smiling even in the most dangerous of situations he put himself in. But now his face was crossed into a deep scowl, his teeth clenched, his aura completely different, volatile.

Fugo didn't immediately respond. Only stopping by the doorway, nodding slightly as he registered the words Giorno spoke. Turning around to meet him in the eyes. Emerald meets Cerulean. "Had my brother heeded my father's warnings and focused on the tasks he's assigned rather than get himself involved with other matters, had he not met Johnny Joestar, had he not gone to the Steel Ball Run… he would still be alive."

And with that, Fugo turned around and trudged out of The Cow Post, refusing treatment from his injuries, leaving H. P. Joestar slack jawed, and Giorno confused.

Tick, tick, tick… DING!

"OH SHIT! OH SHIT!" Giorno yelled loudly, flailing his arms in disbelief. "NO WONDER, HE HATES ME! HE THINKS UNCLE JOHNNY GOT GYRO KILLED! HE'S GYRO'S BROTHER!"

H. P. sighed, before turning to Bucciarati. Both people sporting a bowl cut nodded in recognition of each other.

"You must be Mr. Bucciarati."

"And you must be Giorno's mother."

"Giorno has said some very kind things about you."

"Has he now?"

"Yes… But enough of that. I think we have a lot to discuss."

"So it would seem." Bucciarati said as he looked out the door Fugo exited from.

End of Episode 12


Also, yes, I am now experimenting with crack in my fics. You might be able see that humor is more prevalent. I hope I don't overindulge, like a certain Thor Movie. Remember kids: Less is more.

(The following are my ideas, and not previously mentioned by vanillaprinces)
[Man Who Sold The World]: Red Death's stand; named after the 1970 David Bowie Studio Album and song of the same name. (Also covered by Nirvana in their 1994 MTV Unplugged appearance.)

Serve the Servant: named after the Nirvana song from their 1993 studio album, In Utero.