And here the comfort starts ^_^


Chapter Ten

It felt…surreal to be back.

It was such a strange feeling to have forgotten a whole chunk of one's life and then be thrust back into the present, fearing that what he was experiencing now was nothing but a dream. But maybe that was the fever talking. Giorno was positive that Bucciarati was holding him, carrying him like a child because his legs didn't want to work. He could feel his heartbeat and there was Bucciarati's familiar scent, which was too realistic to be something subconscious. He was positive that Trish and Narancia came running to see him the instant they got in the door, both of them crying, enveloping him and Bucciarati both. Fugo and Mista were close behind, squeezing his shoulder, patting his head, asking what they could do.

It was a bit overwhelming, but Giorno didn't mind at the moment to be suffocated like this. He had never been an openly touchy-feely person, but with the last month spent where the only human contact he received was intended to hurt, it felt so nice to know that every one of these people were here only to offer comfort and loving touches. He just wished he didn't hurt so much right now…

"Easy, give him a little room," Abbacchio said. But his voice was uncharacteristically gentle as if he couldn't even justify telling the others to go away since they had all been so worried.

"Let me help him get cleaned up," Bucciarati told them, already moving toward the stairs. "Get Giorno's bed ready for him."

"I made soup," Trish said.

"Good, see if you can find some cold medicine; he has a bad cough and a fever."

"I can go get some if we don't have any," Fugo replied.

The bustling quieted as Bucciarati carried Giorno upstairs, stopping at the bathroom where a steaming bath had already been drawn.

"Here, can you sit up for just a second?" Bruno asked Giorno, sitting him down on a small stool and propping him against the wall. Giorno tried, slumping against the towel rack as he watched Bucciarati roll his sleeves up and test the water.

"It's a little warm for your fever. Let's put a bit of cool water into it first."

As he did that, Giorno fought to keep his eyes open; just the act of sitting upright seeming to exhaust him right now.

"There we go, that should be good. Let's get you cleaned up," Bruno said, turning back to Giorno.

Giorno barely noticed when Sticky Fingers took seconds to carefully unzip the clothes away from Giorno's multiple injuries. Bucciarati made a quiet soundas he carefully peeled the remnants of the old shirt away from Giorno's back, the fabric sticking in the dried blood. Giorno winced.

"Sorry, it's sticking to your wounds, I'm going to have to make sure to wash all the fibers out. The shirt's so tight it was pressed pretty deeply into the open sores."

"Didn't have anything else to wear," Giorno murmured. "…Wouldn't buy me anything that fit."

Bucciarati's face darkened as he angrily kicked the now ruined clothes into the corner of the room. Giorno felt glad to be rid of them, and he was too tired to be embarrassed as Bucciarati had to help him into the tub.

He gasped, the water stinging his open wounds.

"I know, I know," Bucciarati murmured gently. "But we have to get these clean anyway." He soaped up a washcloth. "Lean forward. I'll start with your back."

Giorno tucked his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he bent forward, body protesting more than it had a right to.

Even Bucciarati's careful scrubbing brought tears of pain to Giorno's eyes. His back was so tender and with the fever on top of that making everything so much more sensitive it was ten times worse. Tears dripped into the water below and he tried to hide them.

"How did you find me?" he asked finally as Bucciarati finished with his back and turned to his face, taking his chin gently and scrubbing the deep cut on Giorno's cheek.

"It's a bit of a long story. What do you say we both share stories when you're feeling better, hm?"

Giorno nodded gratefully. It didn't really matter at the moment anyway. He was back and that was good enough for him.

He just wished he hadn't left in the first place.

He looked down as Bucciarati continued to clean his injuries, going to his cut knees, and realized that the man's knuckles were swollen and bruised.

"Your hands," he murmured.

"Oh," Bruno smiled a little wryly. "I don't mind. I'll bear these proudly; they were worth it."

Giorno might have offered a small smile if he didn't feel so wretched right now.

Bucciarati was finished cleaning the copious injuries now and turned to start washing his hair. Giorno fought back tears as he felt Bucciarati's fingers skim attentively through the short choppy strands, his scalp sore.

"What happened to your hair, caro?" Bucciarati asked him after a couple minutes.

"He cut it off," Giorno whispered. "Said it…said it looked too arrogant." He pressed his lips together, trying to keep his emotions at bay. It was still just hair. It was stupid to be upset.

"I'm so sorry," Bruno murmured, gently massaging his scalp. "It will grow back though, I promise."

"I know, it just…" Giorno pressed his lips together, fighting against the lump in his throat that just wouldn't seem to go away.

"It's demeaning, I understand," Bucciarati said, reaching down to cup a hand over Giorno's eyes as he tipped his head back to rinse his hair. "I can't imagine what you've gone through."

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened a second later, revealing Abbacchio. He set a pair of Giorno's clean underwear on top of the waiting towel. "The first aid kit is set up in Giorno's room. And Fugo went to get him some cold medicine.

"We're just finishing up," Bucciarati replied, rinsing the last of the soap out of Giorno's hair.

Abbacchio grabbed the towel as Bruno reached down to drain the tub before helping Giorno up.

Abbacchio wrapped the towel around his waist and Bruno grabbed another one to start gently dabbing Giorno's raw skin dry.

"Holy shit," Abbacchio murmured as he got a look at all the injuries. "Sorry kid, but…"

"I know it's bad," Giorno croaked, shivering already in the cold air, the feeling only intensified by his fever. He huddled closer to Abbacchio who was holding him upright and flinched as Bucciarati tried his best to dry him off. Every gentle dab still incredibly painful.

After Giorno was dry and had struggled into the clean, thankfully soft underwear, he leaned on Bucciarati and Abbacchio on the way back to his room.

He couldn't help it. As soon as he stepped through the door, he broke down after having spent so long holding everything in.

It was just such a shock compared to the bare room and dirty mattress he had been sleeping on for the past month. Everything was bright, and open, and all the things were his. He even felt grateful for the stack of old forgotten paperwork on his desk. He simply sank to the floor, choking on a sob, fighting against the ugly tears that finally burst out of him.

"Giorno," Bucciarati breathed, sinking with him, cradling Giorno as gently as possible.

"God, kid," Abbacchio said quietly, crouching as well, a hand falling on top of Giorno's damp head. "It's okay now, you're home," he murmured.

Giorno folded as the sobs once again turned into a coughing fit and he was scooped up by Bucciarati once more and settled onto the side of his bed.

"Just bear with us a little longer, Giorno, let's get these injuries taken care of," Bucciarati said as he held Giorno up with one hand as Abbacchio turned to the first aid stuff that was spread on the other side of the bed.

"My frogs," Giorno murmured with surprise, realizing his tank was still sitting on the dresser, the frogs happily hopping around.

"Narancia's been feeding them," Abbacchio said. "We'll bring your plants back in here too, but they were dying, so we thought it was better to take them out to the garden while you were gone."

Just the confirmation that they had always expected him to come back; hadn't just written him off as a runaway who wasn't worth the trouble of looking for, brought more tears to Giorno's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry."

"Giorno, you have no reason to be sorry, none of this is your fault," Bruno said, taking his face gently between his hands and leaning in to kiss the side of his head. "I'm just so glad to have you back."

Giorno choked on another sob, squeezing his eyes shut as Bucciarati and Abbacchio both took up the monumental task of tending his copious injuries. Bucciarati methodically cleaned the cuts on his face and arms, the welts and bleeding cuts from the belt and buckle that had dug into his ribs and stomach, and finally the cuts on his knees from falling onto the broken plate. Abbacchio did the same with his back, and as soon as the antibiotic ointment was applied to the majority of Giorno's body, soft gauze was wrapped around his torso, bandages over his knees and the nasty cut on his cheek, and finally they helped him into his own pajamas. A soft t-shirt and comfortable pants that actually fit him. Giorno wanted to cry again, furious that he couldn't seem to keep his emotions at bay right now after suppressing them for so long.

Abbacchio cleaned up the first aid stuff as Bucciarati tucked Giorno into bed.

"Let's take your temperature," he said, having Giorno stick the thermometer under his tongue.

By the time it beeped, causing Bucciarati to form a worried look, the door opened and Trish came in with a tray, followed by the others.

"Hey, Giorno, do you feel like some soup?" Trish asked him gently.

"How are you, GioGio?" Narancia asked a little nervously, hovering by the bed, wringing his hands.

"I'm glad to be back," Giorno replied tiredly, and that was at least the truth.

"I'll bet," Mista said, sitting at the end of his bed while Trish put the tray across his lap and bent, hesitating slightly before she gave him a gentle hug that Giorno honestly wished could go on for longer, despite his injuries.

"I'm so glad you're back," she said, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Here, I got several things because I didn't know what exactly he needed," Fugo said as he came in, handing Bucciarati a shopping bag full of cold medicine that the capo instantly started sorting through.

"Thank you, Fugo."

Fugo bit his lip. "It's the least I could do." He turned to Giorno. "Giorno, I'm so sorry I didn't ask you where you were going that day. This all could have been avoided if I had just…"

"No," Giorno sighed, reaching out to grasp the other boy's hand impulsively. "I wouldn't have told you anyway," he added wryly.

"I wish I hadn't lost you in the crowd when I saw you that day," Narancia said, sitting on Giorno's bed, scooting closer to him. "Do you remember that?"

"Yeah," Giorno nodded. "I just…didn't recognize you."

"Yeah that Stand sucked ass," Mista said, squeezing Giorno's ankle reassuringly through the blanket. "But the user is in pieces in the canal now. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

Giorno wanted to be comforted by that, but it hadn't really been the Stand user who had hurt him. He had just done it for money after all. It hadn't been personal.

"Here, take this," Bucciarati said, handing a small cup of medicine to Giorno. The teen took it, his hand shaking slightly and cringed at the taste. "And these for the fever and pain," the man added and pressed pills into Giorno's palm.

Trish gave him a glass of water and Giorno swallowed with some difficulty considering his sore throat.

"Try to drink the soup too," Trish urged him, cupping his cheek gently.

Giorno did, even though he couldn't taste much from his congestion and he still felt a little sick to his stomach from the fever. He drank as much as he could before he eyes started to fall shut and he felt someone take the cup from him.

"Get some rest, caro mio," Bucciarati's voice filtered in as a soothingly cool hand smoothed over Giorno's brow. "Everyone…"

"Let them stay," Giorno murmured, dragging his eyes open again briefly to see the others starting to file out. He just couldn't think of being alone right now.

They all instantly returned to his bed, pressing close, everyone finding a spot that allowed them some contact with Giorno, until he was surrounded by nothing but familiar faces, his family. The comfort this brought him was finally enough to allow him to give in to his exhaustion.


Bruno watched as the kids crawled onto the bed to sit with Giorno and suddenly felt like he needed a breather. Now that he wasn't actively caring for the boy, everything was starting to settle in. Between the adrenaline rush earlier, and his basic lack of sleep and self-care the past few weeks, he knew he was going to have to keep a hold on himself or he might have some kind of breakdown.

Knowing Giorno was in good hands right now, he quietly exited and made his way down the hall as emotions started to overwhelm him. He needed fresh air, but he was already shaking uncontrollably as he got to the stairs, and, overcome with pent-up everything, he lashed out, punching the post at the top of the railing and created a zipper halfway down the stairs from his fury.

"Shit! Shit!" he hissed, jaw clenched as he had Sticky Fingers erase it. It had been a long time since he had unintentionally used his Stand power like that.

Footsteps sounded coming down the hall. "Bruno, are you all right?"

"Of course I'm not fucking all right," he snapped as Abbacchio came to a stop a few feet away.

"How can I be all right?" Bruno gripped the stair railing, knuckles white. "I never knew, Leone, he never said anything…" He stopped, choking slightly, throat painfully tightened. "And now looking back on it, it's so obvious. Why did I never think to ask him about his past? If I had spent one moment to actually ask him anything at all, maybe he wouldn't have thought he had to be so tight-lipped about his past. He could have opened up to us about this instead of going off and being forced back into that terrible house. I'm such a damned idiot."

"No, you're not," Abbacchio sighed. "Look, I told you before, Giorno just isn't the type of person to share about personal issues. Hell, it took him months before he was okay with anyone touching him, or realizing that he could reciprocate hugs."

"Exactly!" Bruno snapped. "That should have told me everything, but the thought hardly crossed my mind. I just… the scars…" He sank down to sit on the top of the stairs. "Not just from this but…old scars. God, Leone…"

"I saw them," Abbacchio replied quietly, jaw tightening. "But that bastard's not going to touch him again. We'll make sure of that."

"Which is, I'm sure, what Giorno thought when he got out of that house in the first place, when he came here the first time and became part of our famiglia, but look what happened!"

"It's not on you."

"It is if I want to play parent as well as boss to these kids, and you know I can't help myself…" Bruno said with a dark chuckle. "When in reality, I'm shit at both."

"Shut up," Abbacchio said, sitting down next to him and knocking his knee sharply into Bruno's. "You know you've done more for those kids than any of their shit parents ever did."

"It took us a month to find him," Bruno said, running his hands over his face. "All those bruises and beatings, cigarette burns too, god. He's so thin too, and pale. What they did to his hair…they didn't even buy him new clothes that fit. All while that bitch was buying designer dresses and new furniture with Giorno's money. I can't…to think that he grew up like that, that he had to go back to that…it just…it kills me." He flexed his swollen hands, relishing the pain, and wishing darkly that he had broken every bone in them beating that bastard into the ground. "I wish I had killed him, Leone, I really do."

Abbacchio's hand settled on the back of his neck, squeezing some of the tension away. "I know, trust me. But…it was Giorno's right in the end."

"I know," Bruno whispered.

"And now he will never have to worry about his past again," Abbacchio added. "We'll all make sure of that."

"We will," Bruno promised himself as well as Giorno. "But it's going to take so much to put him back together."

"I don't know about that," Abbacchio said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "It might be the fever talking, but the kid isn't hiding from anyone right now, which is good. I think between all of us, we can get him back to himself. Better, actually, if he doesn't have anything to weigh him down."

Bruno ran a hand across his damp eyes before he glanced over at the other man, unable to help a small smile. "Even you?"

Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "Of course, even me. What else do you think I'm going to do?" He raised a finger in front of Bruno's face. "But don't forget, that we're taking care of each other too. So, you need to eat and sleep. Giorno's safe and everyone is on golden brat duty at the moment, so there's no need to overwork yourself—got it?"

Bruno sighed, running a hand through his hair, realizing just how disheveled he was. "No, you're right. Just…you might need to remind me."

"Oh, I will," Abbacchio promised. "In fact, I think since I believe you're pushing forty-eight hours, you need to go sleep. Right now."

"Okay," Bruno sighed again, and really, he was exhausted. "If he needs me…"

"I'll let you know."

Bruno got up, and headed down the hall to his room, passing Giorno's again and peeking in to see him lying among the others all piled on his bed, all of them seeming to be asleep. Which was good, because heaven knew none of them had gotten much sleep the past couple days. Giorno shifted, a low whimper escaping his throat causing Narancia to blink his eyes open and shift closer, but he stayed asleep and, if not exactly comfortable, he was at least safe.

And that was all Bruno needed at the moment.


Giovanna lowered himself into bed, still not drunk enough to dull the pain he was in. He didn't care that those men were Mafiosi, he was going to raise hell, and pay them back for what they had done. How dare they come into his house, threaten his wife, and beat him within an inch of his life? And for what? All for that pointless brat? He couldn't even believe it.

He tugged the covers over himself, closing his eyes, thinking of all the ways he was going to pay them back.

Something moved at his feet under the blankets.

Giovanna startled, kicking out. Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his calf.

He cried out, ripping at the sheets drunkenly as the pain continued and spread up his leg like fire.

"What the hell?" he screeched.

"Ferro? What's wrong?"

His wife burst into the door just as Giovanna got the sheets off of him, reaching down to see what had bitten him.

His hand clenched around worn leather and metal. He frowned, pulling it up and finding his belt.

How…?

Something felt very wrong. His senses were dull, his body losing its function, hands loosening so that the belt fell to the floor with a clank of the buckle. He tried to get out of bed but simply collapsed.

"What's wrong?" his wife screeched, going to help him up.

He tried to speak but he couldn't, nothing would work. He felt like he was being burned with fire. Giovanna croaked, scrabbling at the floor, before everything started to go dim and he simply collapsed.

The last thing he remembered was staring at the belt as his wife's screams echoed in the darkness.