Chapter Text
Abbacchio hated Giorno from day one. As soon as Giorno walked into the restaurant that fateful afternoon, he had been taking the lead, as if he knew more than everyone else at the table. The only reason he and the other kids didn’t say anything to Bruno was because he trusted the newbie. And Abbacchio trusted Bruno. They all did. So they knew it was better not to say anything. And as usual, Bruno was right, Giorno was their ticket to the top, bringing out the best in everyone, as Fugo put it. That day, he gave a whole speech of how he would forever respect Giorno while the piss drinking brat was screaming and wriggling on the floor. Even after hearing that story, that didn’t make Giorno any less annoying. Not only was the kid pretentious to hell and back, he was also creepy too. Abbacchio would catch him staying up all night, doing anything from staring at the ceiling to lying on the floor with a circle of frogs around him. Giorno also watches everyone way too closely for his liking. Whenever Giorno’s in a room, he’s always in the back corner, or sitting in that area, making scarily accurate predictions about a person with just a few glances. That’s how he figured out how to get the best present for Trish with only a few conversations between them as well as everyone else. He was ...weird, and Abbacchio hated that. As much as Abbacchio hated him however, the golden Don won over everyone else. And it doesn’t exactly look good if you actively hate your boss. So Narancia gave the two a work-around. Pranks.
It started on April Fools day, when the gang was able to catch a break. Narancia asked Abbacchio to help fill a water balloon so he could throw it at Giorno. Not only did Abbbacchio fill up that water balloon, he was the one that ended up throwing it at Giorno. When he got to see the golden brat frown, that filled Abbacchio with glee, up until he got pranked back. Then the two continued like that beyond April Fools. It was cathartic, for Abbacchio at least. He didn’t know how Giorno thought of it but what does that matter? What matters is that whatever was about to happen was a result of their biweekly bothering.
Abbacchio stretches, groaning from the bright sunlight, the stupidly loud bedsheets, which to his surprise, didn’t have Bruno beside him. He shrugs it off, thinking he’s making breakfast. Despite the comfortable bed sheets calling to him, he put on his slippers, his favorite black bathrobe, and headed to the bathroom, which was conveniently empty. From there he hums a little tune and turns on the faucet for a steamy shower. Abbacchio keeps humming his bathroom tune as he deep cleans his hair as well as giving himself a body scrub. When he’s finished, he dries himself off, except Abbacchio is caught off guard by the red stain on the towel. He continues to dry his hair with a different towel, but that also gains a red stain.
“No way” Abbacchio thought “Did I hit my head against something?” He touches the back of his head to check. When he pulls his hand out, his hand is dripping wet with red dye. No. No nono.
Abbacchio desperately wipes the bathroom mirror, to see how much has been damaged. Upon seeing the head of magenta, he screams in pure terror, grieving the loss of his white hair.
Just then, laughter erupts from the kids. Damn it, those brats were probably listening in on him. Though, he bet he shook the whole house with his scream. He grumbled, looking through his hair care product to see if something was up. When he picks up his shampoo bottle, there’s Bolted beetroot flowers growing on the side furthest from him and he connects the dots. It's a prank from Giorno fucking Giovanna himself. He did this. And now he and the other kids are making a mockery outside.
“NGHHHHHHhhhhh!” Abbacchio slumps over the bathroom counter, his face falling into his beet juice stained hands.
Just then, Bruno zippers into the bathroom, completely unaware of the situation at hand.
“Bella did you see my hairbrush anywhere, I think I-”
He takes a second to look at the sulking goth and tries not to laugh, a few snickers coming out.
“Shut your ass up.”
“About what?”
“You know what.” Abbacchio huffs and puts the thing in Bruno's hand, not bothering to look at him.
Bruno sighs and takes the brush, smiling fondly at his lover.
“I think magenta is an excellent color on you.”
“Like hell it is,” Abbacchio retorts, “and you've got to be damn crazy to think I'm going outside like this.”
“Why don't you just wash it out?”
“I can't, the rest of the brats need to shower. Especially since two of them decided to hoard smelly socks and chips for sport.” Abbacchio shudders as he says this, remembering the last time he tried to go into their rooms.
Bruno doesn’t say anything, just staring at Abbacchio awkwardly.
Abbacchio stares in return before asking, “...What?”
“ You slept in the entire morning amore. I told you, you drink too much.” Bruno says with a pointed look that knows how much wine Abbacchio had last night, since he was the one that dragged Abbacchio’s sorry ass to bed.
Abbacchio huffs and puts his makeup on, trying to avert Bruno’s gaze. “Yea I know, I'm working on it.”
“And I'm proud of how far you've come.”
With that moment of surprise, he sneaks a peck on Abbacchio's cheek, which makes the taller man flush as pink as his hair.
Bruno smiles, proud of his work. “Be ready soon, so I know you won't be stuck in the bathroom all day.”
Abbacchio gruffed in response, concentrating on perfecting his lash line on his right eye. As he moved on to his left eye, he started to wonder how early Giorno had to wake up to get the bottle in. Perhaps not very early, since he apparently slept in. But Giorno wouldn’t have known that. Besides, he could’ve been up as usual, except now he’d have a good reason to be up that late.
Abbacchio looks at himself in the mirror, where the leftover mist still stuck around the edges he didn’t wipe. It wasn’t as clean as he’d like it, but the water would evaporate eventually and the mirror proved his makeup was on point as always. Satisfied with everything but his hair, Abbacchio leaves the bathroom, and heads into his room, which had already been cleaned, to get dressed for the day.
The goth sighed fondly, “You work too hard.”
The good thing that came out of this situation, was that Abbacchio could afford to dress down a little, since he would be staying home. So Abbacchio went through his wardrobe, settling on a well fitting purple shirt with an open V neck all the way down, and sleeves loose enough to roll up his forearm. Then he pulled out matt, black latex pants, and held them next to the shirt he picked as well as his go to belt, with the stylishly big A buckle on it.
“Yea, this’ll look good.”
Well, it would've looked good if his hair wasn’t this hideous magenta. But he already had this crisis, and it didn’t change anything. So Abbacchio sucked it up and put on the outfit, regardless of his hair or how annoyingly loose his belt was. He shifted it around, tightening it a little. When that was dealt with, he put on black dress shoes, for no other reason than because he felt like it. He then put his bathrobe and slippers back in his closet. In the time it took him to do the task, his belt became loose again. The goth huffed with annoyance and tightened it, although a little bit more forceful this time. Abbacchio does this as he comes out of his room, down the stairs and into the messy, but cozy living room, where the kids were chatting and watching tv on whatever nature documentary they felt like watching at the moment. Frustrated with the loose thing that won’t cooperate, Abbacchio growls under his breath, “I need a new belt.’’
Out of the corner of his eye, Giorno jumps. But then again, there was a frog on the TV, he probably just got excited. So he ignores it and goes past the kids, which are either snickering or looking at him. Mista meanwhile, gets the bright idea to tease the grumpy goth a bit more.
“Heeey, good morning sleeping beauty!!”
Abbacchio just glares at the fashion disaster as he goes to the fridge to get some milk. Mista giggles and pats Giorno, congratulating him on his prank. Narnacia is back to having a laughing fit on the floor, since he could barely process the sight of Abbacchio with magenta hair. Fugo is desperately trying to compose himself, but with Narancia’s fit and Mista’s giggles, it's proven to be quite the challenge. Trish also lets out a hearty laugh and hugs Giorno, giving him praise. Which reminds Abbacchio that he needs to get Giorno back.
As he drinks the last of the milk from the jug, he squints at the kids, but mostly Giorno. The goth finds himself getting aggravated by how the pretentious kid didn't even try to show a smile, or much of a reaction at all when he showered with attention! For his next prank Abbacchio not only had to get him back, but get him so hard Giorno couldn't just shrug it off, or sigh it away like with everything else. No, he needed something that would get Giorno to his core, but there was a problem. The damn kid never showed anything except what he wanted to show. Fugo might know something considering how close they were, but like Trish, he's not the one to get involved with pranks. Mista and Narancia would be more likely to help, they'd also be more likely to giggle too much to ruin the whole thing before it even started. And Bruno cares too much about all the brats to prank them. He'd bottle up his guilt or talk him out of it halfway through. So Abbacchio is going to have to do this himself.
“Helloooo!” Bruno calls in a sing-song voice, “Earth to Leooooone!”
Abbacchio tiredly looks over, not feeling like talking.
Bruno smiles and pats Abbacchio’s shoulder. “We're going out now, take care of the house and make a snack for the kids when we get back.”
The goth nods and wipes off the milk mustache, careful not to wipe away the purple lipstick. “Got it, I'll make us something too.”
“Thank you Leone.” Bruno holds his hand briefly before going to the door. The rest of the kids pour out of the house and race to the car. Bruno giggles at the sight before following them. He waved to Abbacchio, who’s now standing by the door. “Ciao!”
“SEE YA LATER BEETHEAD!!”
“Narancia!” Bruno scolds.
The rest of the kids burst into laughter and smiles. Giorno shrugs it off and heads into the car, then so do the others, then Bruno drives away.
Abbacchio scowls and closes the door, flipping off the car. Then he takes a deep breath.
“Ok. Focus. The more time we waste thinking about the brats, the less time we’ll have to find some dirt.” The man coached himself. Once he did that, he shaked off whatever underlying annoyance he had left and got to work.
First thing, Abbacchio figured he’d tidy up the place a little. He picks up the snacks and who knows what else they had for breakfast from the couch, tossing the garbage in the trash. Then he turns off the TV since he wasn't going to be using that this morning. Besides, he could just catch the latest episode of Beauty Centre later tonight if he put down the volume low enough. But that was for tonight. Today, he was going to find some dirt to get Giorno back!
Abbacchio calls out for his stand. “Moody Blues!”
Moody Blues clicks and gives a sound like a tape recorder rewinding as it appears out of the ether. Their signature shiny VHS static is there too, reflecting the light in the room.
“Go back to 3 weeks ago,” Abbacchio commands, “before that Giovanna brat joined us.”
The numbers on Moody Blue's forehead flicker and reset to 01:03:29:00. Their VHS static fades away and they take the form of Giorno. The clock starts and Moody recounts Giorno's day, following his movements.
Moody Giorno goes to the couch and moves his arm as if he’s moving a bed sheet. Then they replicate him picking some paper and skimming it over. The stand imitates Giorno’s disgruntled sigh.
“He said he'd be paying for this month. ...Liar.” The stand yawns and rubs his eye, trying to fully wake himself up.
“Guess I'll skip out on my tutoring session. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow if I get enough rich wallets today.”
Abbacchio watches this and raises a brow. “Huh. So the kid wasn't wanting to be a gangster out of nowhere. But stealing wallets? Those don't get far unless he hits up the airport every time, but even then that's stupid.” He sighs and lets the thought go and resumes his search.
“Moody. Go back to a month ago from where you are.”
They nod and the date changes from 01:03:28:00 and Moody Blues changes along with it. Giorno's hair goes from his long, signature gold to a much shorter, pitch black.
Abbacchio wheezes and bursts into a laughing fit. “AHAHAHA HE'S NOT EVEN A REAL BLOND!! HE EVEN FUCKING DYES HIS EYEBROWS TO TRICK EVERYONE!!”
He keeps cracking up at the discovery. Moody Giorno goes to the kitchen table and picks up a leftover coloring sheet, reading it over like it was the homework he was working on at the time.
Moody Giorno scans the thing, and mutters the prompt to himself. “Write about what you did over the break; and don't put the same thing as last year. Hm.” He then picks up a pencil from the desk and gets to work.
Abbacchio eventually calms down and finally pays attention to Moody Giorno. He looks to the dining room, where his stand is, then goes behind him to see what he's writing.
Over the break, I did my homework and I had time to watch TV. I also went outside and practiced some sports .
Moody Giorno looks at his response, carefully examining it for any errors. When he doesn’t find any, he sighs and treads his hand through his bangs, brushing them out of the way. “Yea. That sounds normal.”
“Pft, sounds normal?” Abbacchio scoffed. “What did you actually do over your break? Actually, what did you write last year to get that note from your teacher?”
With that, Moody Blues' date changes to 00:03:28:00. They click and rewind, and Giorno starts to get really scrawny. Abbacchio can't help but giggle at how Giorno, the same kid who always kept his hair neat and got clothes that accentuated his form, hadn’t bothered to brush his mess of a mop or to wear better fitting clothes for his small frame. Was he even the same person? Maybe the blond got to his head, or he watched one too many fashionista movies.
“Moody, Abbacchio giggles “Go back a few more years, I bet he looked hilarious as a little kid.”
Moody Blues wyrrrrrs and clicks a little with concern but does as requested, going back to 89:3:28:00. Then Giorno goes through a much more drastic change. He's much smaller now, 101 centimeters give or take, and he's got a cute little bowl cut, bangs just barely touching his eyelashes, which highlight his big, curious blue eyes. He still has that adorable baby face, the one Giorno denies is even a thing to possess. The little fella is also wearing clothes loose enough that he still needs time to grow into them.
Abbacchio of course, finds this as the peak of comedy and has another laughing fit.
Meanwhile, Moody Giorno stops staring at the creamy yellow wall and toddles over to the kitchen. He stares at the tan and white tiles, then the walnut cabinets. He looked at the various plants that were by the window, wanting to know more about them. Moody Giorno bleps and looks over his shoulder. He toddles away, faster and faster, until the toddling becomes running.
Abbacchio giggles at the sight, finding it hilariously adorable to watch the kid run around, practically waddling at full speed. He looked like one of those baby penguins, except he was scurrying around the kitchen in random directions. The goth had to admit, the brat was cute. And when Moody Giorno ran into the cabinets and fell on his butt made the giggles spiral into yet another laughing fit. However, that fit was quickly broken when the kid started screaming.
“PADRE NO!”
Abbacchio stops and looks over to the kid, who is quickly picking himself up and running around again which makes the man confused.
“Wasn’t he playing around?” He mutters to himself.
After some chasing, Moody Giorno is finally caught. Abbacchio can see the kid’s little body shaking in fear as he’s backed into a corner.
“What the hell is going-”
Moody Giorno screams.
Abbacchio looks at the boy, his eyes wide in horror. The kid’s little arms were bleeding to protect his face from the impact of whatever hit him.
D
Did that guy hit him?
There wasn't time to answer that question before another harsh WHIP strikes down against the little boy. He starts to cry, "PADRE STOP!"
WHIP
"NO PADRE!!"
WHIP
"STOP IT!!"
"This is payback for all those times you keep staring at me!”
WHIP
“For looking at me while I'm drinking! You never learn you useless brat!"
WHIP
"STOP IT HURTS!"
Abbacchio stares in disbelief, no way could the man hurting the kid be his father. He knew parents could be shitty, they could disown their kids. But they wouldn't go as far as to HIT them , , , right?
WHIP
The kid choked out a sob as he kept getting beat, over, and over. Then Giorno yelped as the father- no, that beast of a man, picked him up, turned the kid around, hanging him by his shirt, much like a predator does to their prey, before whipping harder at his back.
The cracks of the belt, the screams and cries from the toddler that Abbacchio didn't even know was possible, and the pool of blood pouring from Moody Giorno's open back, seeping into his pants, and drip, drip, dripping onto the tan and white kitchen tiles. The worst part of it all is that Abbacchio couldn't stop watching. No muscle could move or even utter a command to even try to pause the horror show that was happening right in front of his eyes. So the beating just kept happening. And Abbacchio saw all of it.
He didn't know how long it was, or many injuries the poor boy sustained but Moody Giorno’s face was stained with tear trails that ran down his chubby cheeks. His once innocent, curious eyes, were now a deeper, lifeless blue that Abbacchio recognized all too well. That proved to be too much. Something in Abbacchio, whether it be terror, or something else, snapped.
"MOODY BLUES, CUT IT OUT!"
It was more a cry of desperation then a command, but it was more than enough to get the stand’s attention.
Moody Blues paused on that lifeless gaze and clicked, fast forwarding through Giorno's life, flinching and recounting all the hits Giorno had been forced to take in the blink of an eye before returning to the ether.
Abbacchio gasped, the adrenaline quickly going away. It took him a moment to find his footing. When he did, the startled goth stumbled out of the kitchen and collapsed onto the living room floor, his legs giving out. That gave the waves of truth and disbelief a chance to crash into him with all their relentless power. In those mental waves Abbacchio found himself drowning. He realized that was why Giorno jumped at the mere murmur of needing a new belt, why he was on the skinnier side despite him eating all his meals, and most certainly why he hated drugs as much as Bruno. This wasn't just because he saw how it had affected his community, but from the nightmare that he had to endure for who knows how long. Those screams. Abbacchio couldn't get the screams out of his head, which may very well be the only raw emotion he would get out of Giorno Giovanna.
"Bella?"
Bruno's voice was soft, yet steady, providing Abbacchio a sense of location every time.
Abbacchio took a few shaky breaths and looked up. Bruno was standing by the door frame, carrying some groceries. Behind him, the kids were also starting to come in with the first being Giorno, perfectly neat and emotionless as ever, but now the man understood why. He knew now exactly what was hiding under that forced emotionless state. He knew how much Giorno was suffering on the inside, underneath layers and layers of his protective tree trunk barrier, and with each rare, genuine smile that escaped the roots of that tree, it made it all the more painful.
And all the more enraging.
Abbacchio took one of many sharp breaths today. Then he stood up and walked to his room, slamming the door shut, without saying a word.
"...Signore Bucciarati, did I do something wrong?" Giorno spoke with vulnerable words but in his usual calculated, unwavering tone.
With furrowed brows and critical eyes looking around the room he responded "No." Then he looked to Giorno with resolution, "Get everyone to help unload the groceries, I'll be with you shortly."
Giorno nodded and headed into the kitchen, arms full of bags. Fugo came behind, then Mista, Narancia, and Trish with their bags. Bruno went upstairs, trusting Giorno to relay the orders.
When Bruno arrived at his and Abbacchio's room he knocked gently.
“What?” Abbacchio snarled.
“Leone it's me. Can I come in?”
There’s an uncertain, uncomfortable pause between them.
Abbacchio then asks, “Is anyone else with you?”
“No.” Bruno reassures, “It's just me and you on this floor. The kids are all staying downstairs.”
Another pause, this one more deafening than the last. But Abbacchio responds.
“...Fine.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
Bruno lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Once he preps himself, he summons his stand to create a zipper, which opens through the door. When he appears on the other side, he gets out and closes it. He adjusts his clothes and sits next to Abbacchio on the bed, who's facing away from him, gripping his arms.
“What's got you so worked up?” Bruno asks, placing his hand on Abbacchio’s shoulder.
“Nothing” Abbacchio responded, a little too quickly, “It’s stupid.”
“Leone, that doesn't matter. It's clearly shaken you.” The shorter man reasons. “You don't have to deal with it alone. Just talk to me, and I'll listen.”
Abbacchio shrugs. Bruno huffs and cups Abbacchio’s face, using his thumbs to brush away the stray tears that rolled down the goth’s face.
“It’ll be ok. We’ll work through it together, like we always do.”
“Y-yea.” Abbacchio shuddered. “Yea ok.”
The goth takes a deep breath to calm himself down as best as he can. He tells Bruno how he used Moody Blues to snoop into Giorno's past while they were out, looking for a way to get back at him for the prank this morning. He also tells Bruno everything he saw, from Giorno having to pay for high school himself through stealing people's wallets at the airport, how damn skinny and messy the boy was when he was younger, to when he was 4, he got beaten for the first time, and how he probably still has those lash scars littering his back. By the time Abbacchio finished, Bruno sits there, in shock of all that Giorno had to go through, how Abbacchio was able to recount it all given the disturbing nature and how recently he’d seen it go down. He then gives Abbacchio a tight hug, and Abbacchio returns it.
“H-how long did Giorno have to go through that?” The smaller man asked with a vulnerable expression.
“I. I don’t know.” Abbacchio said slowly, trying not to crack under the stress of it all. “But I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Bruno squeezed him tighter and buried his face in Abbacchio’s chest.
“We'll be better then them.” Bruno promises. “All of these kids have gone through hell but we'll take care of them, ok?”
Abbacchio swallows hard and nods, rubbing Bruno's back to calm both his partner and himself.
Bruno sighs and relaxes under the touch. After a moment of them feeling comforted in each other’s presence, he asks his partner, “How about we have a light drink? It would take our-”
“No.”
The smaller man pauses, looking at Abbacchio in bewilderment by the sudden change.
“I'm not drinking in front of those kids.” The goth announces, forming his own promise. “They've seen enough drinking then they should in their lifetime.”
Bruno studied Abbacchio's unmoving gaze, then smiled softly.
“Alright, how about some grape juice with the kids? We bought plenty for all of us.”
Abbacchio huffed and nodded. “Sounds good.”
The two stay in their embrace for a touch longer, before they get up and leave their room. They go down stairs to the mess of a kitchen, but this time it's filled with laughter and smiles, big and small.
“NO FAIR!!” Trish yelled, wiping the tomato sauce off her shirt.
“You’ve got to pay more attention!” Mista yelled back, prideful that he got a hit.
“Yea! Otherwise you’ll get ambushed! Like right now!!” Narancia cheered from the top of the fridge as Aerosmith fired off a flurry of peas at all his friends. Everyone yelped and ducked for cover, either hiding under the table or using a pot lid as a shield.
“GioGio! I need more tomatoes!” Fugo commanded, opening his hand to him.
Giorno nodded and had Golden Experience grow more of the fruit. Then he put a handful in Fugo’s waiting hand before cracking a sliver of a smile. “Get him good Panna.”
Fugo grinned and threw them at Narancia as hard as he could. Narancia screamed and gripped onto the top of the fridge.
“EWWW TOMATOES?! GROSS!!”
“If you don’t want to be covered in them, get down from there.” Fugo scoffed, feigning compromise.
Narancia stuck his tongue out at the teen, giggling. “You’ll never get me down from here!”
“Alright then,” Trish announced as she and Mista got out from the table and stood by Fugo and Giorno, “We’ll get you down ourselves!”
“Let’s take him down! FOOD FIGHT STYLE!!” Mista commanded, pointing to Narancia.
Just before the war begins Bruno yells, “NO!! NO FOOD FIGHT STYLE!”
The kids scream and scurried around, trying to act like they weren’t the ones responsible for the mess.
“Too late rats, we saw everything.” Abbacchio huffs, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in amused annoyance. He was impressed but had to be serious. Or at least try to be, for Bruno’s last bit of sanity.
“I’m not made of money you know.” Bruno sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Well, lucky boy over here is the Don!” Mista exclaims, grabbing Giorno and waving him around as evidence.
“And you’re his Consigliere!” Trish pointed out. “So we have millions and millions of liras!”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we should spend it willy-nilly” Bruno explained, exasperated. “And put Giorno down Guido, he’s not a toy.”
Mista giggles nervously and does what he’s told, setting Giorno down. Giorno just gives an awkward thumbs up in response.
“So…” Fugo starts. “Are we in trouble?”
The two parents look to each other, then to their gaggle of kids.
“You will be if you all don’t help us clean up.” Bruno says, ruffling Fugo’s hair motherly. Fugo and the others look relieved.
“I hope you all can clean as fast as you can make a mess.” The goth adds.
“You bet we can!” Trish cheers.
Narancia wraps an arm around Trish and adds, “Yea we’ll get this place cleaned up in no time!”
“Bet I can clean it up faster than you.” Mista says, looking over at the two.
“Your bets are what got us here in the first place dumbass.” Fugo grumbles.
“It’s fine.” Giorno says, patting Fugo's shoulder. "Besides, it was fun while it lasted."
Fugo huffs and crosses his arms, begrudgingly agreeing with him. Then the kids got to work, helping their parents clean up the kitchen. Abbacchio sighed for the millionth time as got his clothes dirty from the random stains of food that was all over the area and as his food covered kids gave him hugs or pats. Normally that would get him pissed off, since he'd have to wash his clothes extra hard on laundry day. But right now, he appreciated that moment of touch, where those kids could trust him enough to even come close to him despite everything they've been through. He and Bruno both knew each of these kids were just that, no matter the traumas they came with. And at this moment, he felt proud to be giving them some of their childhood back. And to be the father figure they never had. For Leone Abbacchio, that was worth all the laundry days in the world.