Chapter Eleven

Bucciarati slept like a rock and then woke with a start, everything crashing down on him with sudden panic, thinking he'd overslepy, before he remembered that it was okay—Giorno was home.

He sat up slowly…huh, he was actually in bed, that was a rarity these days. No wonder he had slept so well. He glanced at his clock and saw that it was after midnight. It looked like he had slept all day.

Guilt settled in his stomach before he rationally pushed it aside. Giorno would likely have been sleeping most of the day too, and there were five other people to look after him in the house. Bruno just hoped Giorno didn't feel like he was abandoning him.

He got up and threw on some comfortable clothes before going to check on him. The door to Giorno's room was partially open and a dim lamp was on. Mista was sitting by the bed reading when Bruno came in.

The gunman looked up with a small smile. "Hey, I guess you finally got some rest."

"Yeah," Bruno replied, rubbing at his sticky eyes as he glanced toward the small lump in the bed that shifted slightly, a whimper escaping Giorno's throat. Mista reached out to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder, patting him, and Giorno seemed to calm down at that.

"How is he?" Bruno asked.

Mista pursed his lips. "His fever has been fluctuating a lot. He's pretty hot right now, but the medicine seems to be keeping him out of the danger zone; he's just not very comfortable."

Bucciarati went to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out to press the back of his hand to Giorno's cheek. "Hm, this has been a pretty stubborn fever. We don't know how long he had it before we found him either."

"I'd say it's probably the stress that's made it worse; it's a real killer," Mista shrugged. "His cough sounds pretty bad too."

Bruno closed his eyes briefly as Giorno croaked in his sleep, contorting himself onto his side to curl into a ball. Bruno loosened the sheets around him and reached up to stroke his hair. Giorno's too-warm face pressed against his hand, leaning in.

"If you want to sit with him for a while, I can go make some coffee," Mista offered. "I could use a cup myself."

"Please," Bucciarati said and took the chair that the gunman had vacated.

Giorno shifted again, and his eyes fluttered with a groan before squeezing tight once more. Bruno stroked his hair again, frowning at just how warm Giorno felt.

He got up to head to the bathroom, grabbing a wet washcloth which he brought back to Giorno.

To his surprise, the boy's eyes were fully open when he got back, staring around him in confusion and desperation as he clawed his way into a sitting position.

"Giorno," Bruno called softly, hurrying over. "Can I get you something?"

Giorno didn't answer, breathing through his nose, his face too pale and suddenly Bruno realized what was wrong.

He caught Giorno as the boy staggered to his feet, and started to look around for a trashcan or something he could grab, but Giorno's stomach was already rebelling from the movement of him getting up.

He doubled over, retching painfully as he vomited on the floor and most of Bruno's leg.

He sank to the floor, gasping and gagging, as Bruno crouched beside him, bracing an arm around his chest.

"Uhm s-sso…" Giorno groaned before his stomach rebelled again.

"Shh…" Bruno rubbed his back as Giorno shook, using the cloth he had grabbed earlier to wipe his mouth.

"Sorry, 'm sorry," Giorno kept murmuring, breath hitching with sobs as he shrank away from Bucciarati, nearly collapsing into the puddle of vomit.

Bruno grabbed him by the arm to keep him from falling and Giorno jolted.

"I'm sorry!" he croaked again. "Please… I'll clean it, I'm sorry..."

Bruno's heart shattered again. "Giorno…it's me, you don't…"

"I'm sorry," Giorno just kept babbling, curling into himself with panicked breaths, eyes wide with terror, refusing to look at Bucciarati, or, perhaps not seeing him at all.

The door opened and Mista came in, carrying two cups. He hurried to set them on the desk as he took in the scene, though.

"He get sick?"

"Yeah, can you please take him, Mista? I'll clean this up," Bruno asked.

"Sure thing," Mista said and reached down to get Giorno to his feet as gently as possible. "Come on, Gio…ah, let's get you some clean pajamas, huh?"

"I'm sorry," Giorno continued to mumble, tears leaking down his face as Mista sat him in the chair before he went to grab fresh clothes.

Bucciarati hurried back to the bathroom to grab cleaning supplies. When he got back to the room, Mista was helping Giorno back into bed, the younger boy clinging to him almost desperately. Bruno felt a bit relieved at that. At least Giorno knew he was safe and who he was with now.

"It's okay, GioGio," Mista soothed, patting him gently on the back. "No one's mad, I promise. You're just sick. You can't help that."

Bucciarati cleaned up the mess quickly and went to change, before he came back with a fresh cloth and a glass of water.

Giorno was back in bed, curled up in the older boy's lap as Mista rubbed soothing circles on his belly, probably in some attempt to ease strained muscles and residual nausea. When Bruno went over to the bed, Giorno turned his face to press it against Mista's leg, hiding.

Bruno crouched by the bed, so he could be at eye level, tucking a lock of Giorno's hair behind his ear. "Giorno? It's okay, caro raggazo. I'm not mad, I promise. You know I wouldn't get mad at something like that."

Giorno was shaking, but he finally looked up at Bucciarati with glassy eyes as Mista ruffled his hair.

"You're home, Giorno," Bucciarati promised. "No one is going to hurt you here."

Giorno let out a shuddering sigh and clung to Mista tighter. The older boy rocked him gently, patting his shoulder.

"You're going to get too warm like this, GioGio," he cautioned. "You're still burning up. You're like my own personal space heater."

Giorno whimpered but loosened his grip, allowing Mista and Bruno to settled him in the bed, pulling just a light sheet over him.

Giorno's eyes darted back and forth before settling on Bruno's face. "You're not mad?" he whispered.

"Of course not," Bruno smiled, as he reached for the wet cloth. "It's not the first time I've been thrown up on."

Mista snorted and got up to bring the cup of coffee over to the side table.

"Thank you," Bruno told him. "I've got him for now if you want to go to sleep."

"Okay," Mista said tiredly. "We have a note on the side table where we're writing down the times he takes medicine." He pointed and Bruno nodded in thanks. Mista leaned down and patted Giorno's side. "I'll be back later, kiddo. In the meantime, get some rest. Hope you feel better by the time I see ya again."

Giorno blinked and his eyes slid shut with obvious exhaustion. Bruno glanced over at the piece of paper sitting under the bottle of medicine and saw he had a couple more hours before his next dose. He reached for the cloth again, airing it out to cool it off before he settled it onto Giorno's forehead, over his eyes.

Giorno sighed in relief and his hand fumbled to the edge of the bed, as if seeking something out.

Bruno instantly reached out and took Giorno's hand, squeezing gently.

"I'm here; I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you," he promised.

Giorno seemed to relax instantly and his body finally slumped into a deep sleep.

Bruno sat there quietly, perfectly content just to watch him. They had Giorno back, they had actually found him. He just wished it hadn't been so long. Even a day of that abuse would have been too much, but this…

Bruno wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself for the brief period where he waited, trusting that Giorno was going to come back when he was ready, when in reality, he hadn't even known there was another place for him to go where he would be treated like he should be with common human decency.

Giorno shifted in his sleep to curl closer to Bruno's presence, and the older man reached out to brush an unruly lock of hair out of Giorno's eye again. Whatever Giorno had lacked in his childhood with his disinterested mother and cruel stepfather, Bruno would give him now. Everyone deserved that.

He just hoped it wasn't too late for Giorno to learn that he did too.


Abbacchio woke the next morning, painfully stiff, having fallen asleep as soon as he collapsed into bed so his body was at an awkward angle the whole night. He groaned and pushed himself up, craving coffee as he got ready for the day half-heartedly.

But before he went downstairs he wanted to check in on the kid. The house was pretty quiet right now, and he hoped that meant most everyone was still asleep. He had sent the kids off to bed last night when Mista had promised to take first watch, and he was sure Bruno would have gotten up at some point.

It was, in fact, Bruno who he found sitting by Giorno's bed. One of Giorno's hands clutched in his own as he wiped sweat off of the kid's face and neck with a cloth while Giorno coughed in his sleep.

Bruno looked up with a tired smile as Abbacchio headed toward the bed.

"How is he?"

"His fever broke not long ago," Bruno replied with relief obvious in his voice. "Unfortunately, now his bandages are soaked. So are his sheets."

"We'll need to change them anyway," Abbacchio said.

"I need to wake him up to try and get something into his stomach anyway," Bruno replied quietly. "He threw up last night when the fever was really bad." Something passed over Bruno's face, but he shook himself and stood up, carefully slipping his hand out of Giorno's and placing it gently on the bed. "I'll go get him something if you can sit with him for a while."

"As long as you make coffee," Abbacchio replied, taking the vacated seat and studying Giorno. He didn't look a whole lot better, though he wasn't flushed from the fever anymore, just too pale. And then there were the bruises…. Poor kid was soaked in sweat though, which had to be uncomfortable.

Abbacchio stood to go preemptively find a new set of pajamas for him before he heard a whimper from the bed and turned around, seeing Giorno's eyes blinking open.

He looked around sharply before his eyes landed on Abbacchio.

"Abba," he murmured, relaxing a little.

Abbacchio gave a small smile. "Hey, kid. You feeling any better?" He tried to keep any edge out of his voice, practically whispering (at least by his scale.) Abbacchio had done a lot of thinking since they brought Giorno home. It didn't escape him that sometimes the kid just seemed to shut down when he growled at him, and now that he knew… god. Abbacchio hated to think that it was because Giorno saw any similarity between him and that piece of shit stepfather of his, but…

Giorno hummed, shifting in the bed before he cringed a little, tugging at the sheets.

"Your fever broke so you sweat a lot," Abbacchio told him, helping him peel the wet sheets off. "Why don't you sit in the chair for a second and I'll change these?"

Giorno nodded and sat up weakly, grabbing Abbacchio's arm as he moved to the chair, shivering in his damp clothes.

Abbacchio quickly stripped the bed, throwing the sheets into a pile to clean later, and grabbed a fresh set out of the hall closet. When he got back, Giorno was attempting to peel his shirt off, only to nearly fall off the chair.

Abbacchio caught him, helping him get the shirt over his head and cringed as he saw the bandages falling off. "Let's get rid of these too," he said.

A few more minutes and Abbacchio had replaced the bandages with fresh ones and helped Giorno into dry pajamas before he went back to the bed, biting back curses as he fought with the fitted sheet.

But soon enough, Giorno was dry and comfy in his bed again, and Abbacchio could smell coffee from downstairs.

"Thanks," Giorno murmured as he curled up and nestled into the pillows, his eyes sliding shut.

"Don't go to sleep quite yet," Abbacchio warned. "Bruno's coming back with something for you to eat."

Giorno sighed, but tried to blink his eyes open again.

A phone rang, and Abbacchio put a hand to his pocket when he realized it was his, grabbing his mobile out, frowning at it. "Sorry, this might be important," he sighed as he stepped out into the hall, answering the call. "Abbacchio."

"Um, Signore, this is Sergent Toscani...I filled out the missing person's report for you."

Abbacchio instantly tensed, swallowing hard before he replied. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to tell you that…well, we didn't find Giorno Giovanna, but a report came in last night that a Ferro Giovanna was found dead on the scene when his wife called in."

"What happened?" Abbacchio asked, instantly alert.

"The cause of death was…well…snakebite is what the coroner determined after a toxicology report. But no one saw anything on the scene and he was apparently in bed at the time. The only thing they found was a belt."

Abbacchio's eyes widened and he glanced back through the door at Giorno. Nice going, kid, he said to himself.

"Thanks for telling me," Abbacchio said. "And we found the kid, by the way, so you can close that report."

"Oh…I'm glad to hear that," the sergeant said, relieved. "Do you want me to call you if there are any more developments?"

"No," Abbacchio said firmly. "I don't need to know any more."

He ended the call and took a deep breath, heading back into Giorno's room. The boy looked up at him sleepily, a slight furrow between his brows.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Abbacchio cleared his throat. "Nothing." He eyed the kid, judging whether he should tell him now, and then figured that he was probably waiting for this news. "Look, I just got a call. Ferro Giovanna is dead. Snakebite, they said."

Giorno let out a shuddering breath, curling into himself as he covered his face, shaking for a second before he looked up at Abbacchio again. "H-he's dead? Actually dead?"

"Yeah," Abbacchio said softly. "If you want I can go to the morgue for you and make sure. I wouldn't mind stabbing him a few more times myself."

Giorno let out a sound that was half laugh half sob and Abbacchio sank onto the side of the bed, carefully pulling him into his arms, tucking Giorno's head under his chin.

"It's okay, kid. He's not going to hurt you ever again."

Giorno was shaking uncontrollably, hands gripping Abbacchio's shirt. "I just…I was scared…that it…that it wouldn't work and he…" he choked out.

"Kid," Abbacchio said firmly, pulling back just enough to look Giorno in the eye. "If your snake hadn't done it, I would have gone back there myself to unload a clip into him. There was no way any of us were gonna let that bastard walk after what he did to you."

Giorno squeezed his eyes shut and let out another small sob that turned into a bout of coughing, forcing him to double over, hands clamped over his mouth. Abbacchio rubbed the back of his neck before Giorno sank back in against his chest and Abbacchio huffed, wrapping his arms around him again, carefully rubbing his back. A sound from outside had Abbacchio glancing up to see the door open and Bucciarati come in with a tray.

"You're looking better," Bruno said with a small smile in Giorno's direction. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted," Giorno croaked, smothering a few more coughs as Abbacchio helped prop him up with pillows and Bruno settled the tray carefully over his lap. "But…not as bad as I was."

"We got him new sheets and changed his bandages," Abbacchio stated, standing up and folding his arms across his chest.

"Good," Bruno replied. "Now, I just brought you tea and toast to start with, but if you feel like something more later, just let me know." He settled into the chair again. "You're looking a bit thin."

Giorno swallowed hard after sipping his tea. "I…I tried to eat, but…mostly…he…just took all the food before I could get to it."

Bruno's hand clenched against his thigh and Abbacchio found himself hoping that bastard died in agony.

"Well…" Bruno said slowly, obviously trying to contain his own anger. "You know you can have whatever you want here."

"I know," Giorno whispered, blinking firmly, lip trembling almost too much to eat. He reached up to angrily scrub his eyes. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's okay, Giorno," Bruno told him softly, reaching out to stroke his hair. "We don't mind if you cry."

"I know," Giorno croaked in frustration. "I'm just tired of it. It's…exhausting."

"It can definitely be exhausting to feel so much, but you've been through a lot, kid. You might actually feel better to let it out a little," Abbacchio told him.

Bruno glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, causing Abbacchio to shoot him a warning glance.

"Well," the capo turned back to Giorno with a smile. "If it's Abbacchio prescribing that, then he must be right."

A phone rang somewhere downstairs and Bucciarati sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I should probably go start sorting through things in the office. I don't even know what hasn't been done."

"I'll keep an eye on the kid," Abbacchio promised. "The others are going to be up soon anyway."

"Let me know if you need anything, Giorno," Bruno replied as he stood up.

Abbacchio settled down in the chair again, looking out the window as Giorno had his tea and toast, swallowing between coughing fits.

Abbacchio glanced at the dosing chart. "Time for some more cough medicine after that."

Giorno nodded tiredly and coughed again, knocking his knee against the lap table and spilling what was left of the tea in the cup.

Abbacchio caught it before it could roll all over the sheets, biting back a curse and snatching a cloth from the side table to quickly sop up the tea.

"S-sorry," Giorno murmured, shaking harder again. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Abbacchio replied quietly as he took the tray away, and dabbed at the few spots of tea that had ended up on the sheets. "Just an accident."

He finished cleaning up as Giorno just sat there, hands clenched in the sheet.

"Do you want more tea?" Abbacchio asked.

Giorno shook his head.

Abbacchio pressed his lips together, forcing down the fury at the horrid treatment that had caused Giorno to be like this. He turned to measure out the cough medicine and Giorno took it silently—a far cry from Narancia's whining whenever he had to take medicine, that was for sure.

"Can I get you anything else?" Abbacchio asked, feeling a little helpless.

Giorno shook his head as he settled back into the bed. Then, "Abba…? You don't have to be so quiet, you know."

Abbacchio narrowed his eyes at him, shifting a little in embarrassment as he folded his arms over his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I know you're trying not to startle me or…bring up bad memories…but…you don't scare me," Giorno said. "I don't care if you yell, I know you're not like him. It took me a little bit to see that, but I figured it out pretty quickly. Sometimes…my body reacts before my mind does with things like that. That's all."

Abbacchio rubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah…trauma will do that to you," he said quietly.

Giorno sighed and blinked heavily. "I just don't want anything to change. Now that everyone knows."

Abbacchio's lips quirked in a small smile. "Well, I can't speak for anyone else, but you're still a brat to me, if that makes you feel better."

Giorno smiled back. "Yeah…that's good enough."

"We all have our dark pasts," Abbacchio added, more soberly. "No one is going to see you differently. It's just…it's good to know, and maybe it will help you to have someone to talk to. We're all here to listen."

Giorno took a deep breath and coughed into his pillow before his eyes slid shut. "Thank you, Abbacchio."

"Don't mention it. Now get some sleep, brat."


Giorno slept off and on most of the day. Waking up to a different person sitting by his bed each time. Fugo brought him books to read even though his eyes still hurt too much from the fever and sinus pressure to look at small words for too long. Mista read to him though, highly exaggerating everything, which Giorno probably would have found entertaining if he hadn't been so tired. Narancia and Trish brought cut flowers up to his room that morning and promised to bring his other plants back up later.

They disappeared for a while, but came back later that afternoon when Giorno woke to them sneaking into his room with several bags.

"You're awake!" Narancia said with a grin, as he and Trish hurried over to the bed. "We got you some stuff!"

Giorno sat up against his pillows, bemused. "Why?"

Trish plopped down on the side of his bed. "Because Bucciarati said you were forced to wear too-small old clothes because no one would buy you anything new," she said, angrily. "And you don't have a lot of comfy things, so we just wanted you to have something nice while you recover."

She put the bag she was carrying into his lap and Giorno peered into it, reaching inside to pull out an incredibly soft muted lime green sweatshirt. He just sat there holding the soft fabric for a long moment, before he realized his eyes were stinging and his throat hurt and, dammit, he was crying again.

"Th-thank you," he somehow managed to whisper.

"Oh GioGio," Trish said, leaning over to hug him tightly. "It's okay. You deserve to have nice things."

She pulled away and gently took the sweatshirt from Giorno, cutting the tags off before she helped him into it. It was oversized and the sleeves nearly covered his hands, but it was one of the coziest things—no, it was definitely the coziest thing—Giorno had ever owned.

"Do you like it?" Narancia asked.

Giorno nodded, still unable to speak. The other boy grinned and reached into the bag he was carrying. "Good! I hope you like this too. I figured…you probably never had one so…"

He pulled out a stuffed frog, which he plopped into Giorno's lap as Trish moved the other bags to the floor. Giorno carefully picked up the stuffed animal, which was also just as soft as the sweatshirt. He couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips.

"I love it," he told Narancia honestly.

"I knew you would," Narancia said as he and Trish scooched further onto the bed, sandwiching Giorno between them as he hugged the frog against his chest.

"And don't worry, we won't tell anyone that the Don of Passione has a stuffed animal," Narancia added with a grin.

"Of course not!" Trish said, squeezing Giorno's arm and kissing his cheek. She reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes. "You know, if you want, I can even this up for you sometime so it grows out better. Then you won't look like Narancia."

"Hey!"

Giorno closed his eyes, soaking up the warmth from his friends as they pressed close to him.

"Thanks, Trish, that would be nice," he admitted, letting out a slow breath.

He started to think that maybe he would be okay again. One step at a time, his family was putting him back together.


Only one chapter left now!

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