Chapter Text
Mista had grouched the entire time they were at Trish's, tossing him… looks. The expression Doppio wasn't certain of, but the gunman was certainly… looking .
Doppio thought Trish had been very accommodating, allowing them to stay for lunch, cooking them all omelets as the two teens woke up groggy.
Mista devoured his food with gusto before he promptly dragged Doppio out with barely a goodbye, tugging him back toward their hotel.
"Wait a fucking second…" he paused glancing back at Doppio, "have you been wearing those clothes for weeks?"
Doppio, frowned indignant, "I wash them!"
Mista looks disgusted. "Look I hate to say it but we have enough time to go shopping." He squinted in suspicion. " Quickly."
Doppio gawked before Mista grabbed his upper arm and changed direction. He winced, expecting abuse, but Mista let him go just as quickly, leading the way to a store across the street. He meekly followed him trying his best to suppress the terror in his gut at the general situation.
Mista burst into the store like he owned the place, and Doppio slid in behind him, "you got 15 minutes," he said breezily, moving to a rack and flipping through it.
Doppio blinked, confused by his blasé attitude and generosity but he glanced around, quickly grabbing some stuff that looked suitable.
Mista paid not even commenting, grabbing some tight pants for himself and several belts.
They returned to the hotel and Doppio quickly showered, carefully avoiding thinking too hard about his body and changed. He wore a pink corduroy skirt and a long black sleeve crop top, shoving his hair in a long ponytail as he hurried to Mista's door.
Mista opened it, and Doppio stared.
The Mista he knew pulled out ridiculous outfits, tiger print, bright blues and oranges, skin tight pants and crop tops with oddly designed personalized beanies.
That was not the Mista in front of him.
The Mista in front of him could be any teenager on the street except for the gun peeking out of his waistband. A loose tank top emblazoned with a soccer team logo, the shirt had enough give to show his chest where two crescent scars cupped the pec, board shorts that hung low on his hips, secured by a belt, a loose beanie barely covering his wild curly hair and sunglasses, straight out of Top Gun and plain sneakers.
The sunglasses slid down his nose as his eyebrows raised. "You wearing that?" He asked.
Doppio felt his face flame. "You're the one who wears Chanel boots to work everyday!"
Mista paused as if confused before his face broke out into a lascivious grin. "Do you think I dress like that because I like to?"
Doppio balked. "Wh- I mean…"
Mista laughed, a little derisively. "Well I do, but there's a method to the madness. I am currently the Boss' number two and before that I was Bucciarti's gunman and executioner, I wanted people to recongnize me, it was fucking intimidation man!"
"But… when you were against La Squadra and the others…"
"That was a bit of a drop of the hat, we were on the run, but yeah I would have changed. We all dress obnoxiously so the police and civilians recognize us, the gang is pretty well known and unchallenged."
Suddenly Doppio felt like the stupidest person in the world. "I… didn't know." He says lamely.
"Look, it's fine, you look-" Mista leans back a bit checking him out. "You look cute."
Doppio flushes harder.
"Look, it's whatever, let's go." He moves forward leaving Doppio to follow him.
Mista drives them to the location given by Fugio, Doppio anxiously messing with the radio. Mista insisted since he was driving he chose the music, but it was clear he didn't know what music he was in the mood for, his gaze fixed on the road as Doppio flipped through channels, Mista dismissing each in turn.
Thankfully the town wasn't too far, and though Mista hadn't settled by the time they got there, preferring to just turn off the radio in frustration.
They got out, glancing around and Mista grimaces, extracting a walkman from one of his deep pockets.
"You should invest in one of these," he says conversationally, "they're good for long surveillance missions."
Doppio eyes it suspiciously, "like a portable tape player?"
"Yeah but it plays CDs and you don't need to flip it, lasts longer too."
Doppio nods glancing into the seaside town.
***
Mista groaned, sucking on his smoothie languidly as his eyes glanced around.
They'd been searching this town for hours, Doppio's outfit was screaming "come look at me! I'm bait!"
But no such luck.
They had poked around a few spots that seemed suspicious but he figured they should wait until dark to break in.
His pockets were big enough he had half a dozen CDs in a soft container, but someone had scratched a couple, and they kept skipping.
His eyes glazed over as he wondered if it was Narancia and his heart ached. Narancia, the youngest of them, didn't deserve to go like that, the funeral still fresh in his mind. Doppio's alter had killed him, along with Bucciarti and Abbaccio, but damn if the Doppio hadn't risked a lot to help them. It was thanks to him they defeated that door fucker, him and Fugo (fucking bastard).
He glanced behind him, making sure Doppio hadn't freaked out and started making a scene, but-
Doppio was on the ground, his limbs splayed like he had just fallen over limp.
He was immediately on his guard, gun whipped out, his stand flitting around him in concern. Now that he looked around the whole Street was unconscious, at least he thought so, they could have been dead for all he knew.
He bolted to Doppio's side, pressing a hand to his chest to feel slow even breaths. Just sleeping it seemed.
He raised his gun, tugging a headphone free when he heard-
He jerks upright suddenly.
He almost passed out, there was a song, hauntingly beautiful, that just blanked out his mind, but… he pressed a hand to the headphone, he must have loosened his grip and it fell back into place, cutting off the song.
"A stand." He spit his eyes tracking his surroundings, gun raised.
It has to be close, to make that sound. He glances up at a building, best to take the high ground, get a better perspective.
He patted Doppio. "Stay here, sit this one out." Before dodging toward a fire escape, mumbling making his way up to the roof.
His head swiveled and he cursed, it wasn't just the street it was the whole damn block! Everywhere he looked people were asleep and the only thing around was the damn bird!
He growls in frustration, think, think, think!
He focuses, he can't find the sound without hearing it, but he can't hear it without falling asleep!
He slaps his walkman and his CD skips and for a brief moment he can hear it, it's behind him! He whips around charging forward to the edge of the building, eyes searching, he shakes it again and it skips, a bit to his left.
After a few more shakes he thinks he's facing it directly, but all he can see is a bunch of fucking crows, scattered about eating the food left unattended by people now asleep.
Wait…
There's one crow that's…. Different, it's larger, probably the size of a raven, and it's mouth is wide open, it's pecking at the ground but it's not closing its beak.
He aims, steadying his gun with both hands, closing one eye to better aim. It's a long shot, literally, but he doesn't want to get closer in case he spooks it and it flees.
"Sex Pistols!" He says shooting toward the strange bird.
Number one flies with the bullet and it hits home, the crows around it scattering, their caws unheard over his music.
He hesitantly pulls the headphone up, and revels in the silence. He walks toward the side of the building to look at Doppio where he had fallen, except there's another stand, it's cape billowing in the air revealing gears turning underneath, it's fist raised in quick motion.
Doppio lays helpless, his body just starting to break the power of the stand and stir.
Mista raises his gun automatically, aimed and cocked, finger curling around the trigger, eyes wide.
And with his familiarity with guns he knows one thing for certain, as Doppio raises his head, eyes so wide Mista can see the white of his eyes.
The shot won't land in time.
He pulls the trigger anyway as he watches in dismay as the fist comes down fast, number 2 riding it as fast as he could.
And then…
Something strange happens.
One moment the fist is about to connect, and the next gears are scattered everywhere, the cape that hid its form torn and flowing in the wind.
Mista lowers his gun in bewilderment, as a dawning realization curls in his gut.
The kid looks awestruck as the stand collapses and slowly evaporates, looking around in confusion.
Mista swallows hard.
Doppio has the power of King Crimson inside him.