Chapter Text
Blue lips gasped for air as Trish lay on her carpet, eyes rolling back in her head. A pool of vomit by her head, as her blueish fingernails clawed at the floor for some purchase.
"-elp... me.." She gasped out, choking on her words and the vomit and spit that pooled out of the corner of her mouth. She felt like she was dying - she was dying. There was certainly nothing glamorous about this, but Trish was hardly in any fit state to think about the disgusting situation she was in - as her heartbeat slowed - her chest rattled - and her dull green eyes dropped closed - her last thoughts were pleas that this wouldn't be it.
God, after everything, this couldn't be it.
"L'araldo Quotidiano" was dropped onto the desk, pages fluttering, right between Bruno and Giorno. Abbacchio's lilac lips were pressed together and his eyes were dark.
"Abbacchio, wha-" Bruno began, as the aforementioned quickly cut him off by stabbing his finger onto the front page of the newspaper. In big and bold text, the reason for Abbachio's even stonier-than-usual demeanor was plastered on the front in black and white.
'Singer Trish rushed to hospital after overdose
Star found unconscious in Rome apartment after suspected Heroin overdose’
Giorno took a sharp breath in, as Bruno pressed his hands to his face - looking away from the bitter news that was splayed almost carelessly across the desk.
"Does Narancia know?" Giorno asked the lilac-haired man pensively, only to receive a brief shake of the head in response.
"I took it from the doormat as soon as I saw the headline," Abbacchio answered, "He hasn't seen it."
Giorno turned to Bruno as if for guidance, a grim look present on his face - Bucciarati looked almost broken at the news - Trish, bubbly Trish, bright-eyed Trish - this couldn't be happening, he thought to himself as he gritted his teeth behind his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.
Passione, with Giorno at the head, Bruno by his side, had abolished the drug trade within Naples and the surrounding areas - Trish, however, had settled in a penthouse apartment in the city of Rome, and had clearly been able to get her hands on illicit substances, as much as Bruno didn't want to think of it as true,
Trish, with a spoon and an almost-empty lighter,
Trish, with a shoelace tied tightly around her arm,
Trish, with a dirty syringe, stabbing the needle into her arm,
Trish, with track marks, and her eyes rolled back, her breathing shallow, her pulse weak,
He didn't want to think of it as true and yet he could imagine every awful step of the dreadful ritual.
"Bruno," Giorno commenced, in his calm tone “We must find out where she is.” He spoke, his words breaking Bucciarati from his thoughts.
"I," he began, his words muffled by his hands, "I-"
Bruno was saved from answering by Narancia appearing in the doorway - Giorno had a habit of leaving his door open, he liked to know who was where, what they were doing - most times it was a welcoming gesture, but right now he wished it was closed more than anything, if only to grant Narancia a few more moments of blissful awareness regarding
"Hey guys, you seen the newspaper? Fugo was gonna help me- oh, hey! There it is!" Narancia said, heading into the room and across to the desk where the item lay.
Narancia's eyes were immediately drawn to the image underneath the headline - a large and glossy photo of Trish, in almost horrific detail. Her rose pink hair was unkempt, almost matted, her once bright and verdant eyes dull, her skin mottled, and her eyes were ringed with large dark circles - there was only a resemblance to the Trish that they remembered. Narancia hadn't seen her in almost a year, and even then it was just a passing meeting at one of her concerts - and he certainly didn't remember her looking anything like this.
He remembered her all sparkles and smiles, glossy and glamourous with immaculate hair, perfectly styled into her signature curl, with a few strategically positioned ‘out of place’ strands, just to get that effortless look. Sure - perhaps she was a little skinnier than he remembered when he last saw her, but she's a popstar, she was probably on some kind of special diet or something.
The Trish on the front cover, she was barely recognisable.
"Wha-" Narancia began to say as he slowly read the headline, mouthing the words to himself, trying to process what the words said.
He slowly looked up to meet the eyes of the three others in the room, each with grim expressions.
"When were you going to tell me?!" He blurted out, accusingly, tears welling up in his eyes.
"We just found out ourselves." Abbacchio responded quietly, arms folded as he looked away from Naranica's glare.
"Where is she?" Narancia yelled, slamming his hands down on the desk, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, his fists shaking atop the wooden table.
"Dammnit, Ghirga, we don't know any more than you!" Abbacchio shot back, pulling him back from the desk, and gripping Narancia by the front of his shirt.
The two locked eyes, as they both gritted their teeth furiously and sneered, even as tears fell down Narancia's cheeks - angry and devastated all at the same time.
Bruno interrupted their stand-off with an almost nervous clearing of his throat, prompting Abbacchio to release Narancia from his fierce grasp.
"We don't know," He began, in a matter-of-factly tone, with a hint of resignation and sadness as he picked up the phone from Giorno's desk, "But we will find out,"
'Ospedale Commemorativo Dorato' was a private hospital situated on the outskirts of the city of Rome - about 2 and a half hours by car, the journey had been somewhat painful.
Out of habit, Bruno had sat down in the driver's seat, a vacant look in his eyes. He fumbled with the keys slightly, before Abbacchio gently took them from his hand.
"Shift over." He said, gruffly.
"You're in no fit state to drive."
Bruno opened his mouth to argue with his partner, but instead gave a quick blink and a sigh as he allowed Abbacchio to take the keys from him, before sliding over to the passenger seat.
Abbacchio sat down next to him, putting keys in the ignition - in true Bruno fashion, the keys were adorned with the type of keyrings only tourists would buy - big clunky plastic ones with a photo of the Naples scenery.
Among all of them was a photo keyring of the entire group, Trish in the middle with a peace sign, a wide smile, and one of her signed CD’s (which was currently framed in Bruno’s office, right over the doorframe), and Bruno's hands on her shoulders like a proud father.
Abbacchio glanced up to the rear-view mirror as he started up the engine, spying Narancia in the backseat.
Giorno, Mista and Fugo had agreed to make the journey within Coco Jumbo, which Bruno had sat in his lap, both hands grasping it in a protective fashion.
Narancia had refused the request to travel with them, choosing to sit in the back, behind Bruno. He stared out of the window silently, sitting cross legged on the seat, his chin resting on his hand.
If it weren't for the situation, Abbacchio might have mistaken his gaze for a wistful one.
Arriving at the hospital, it was clear why Trish had been admitted here - it was a private hospital, everything was clean and sterile, and most of all, quiet. The nurses swooped around almost silently, dressed in light blue scrubs, their hair scraped back into neat ponytails which bounced as they walked.
Bruno, with his gang trailing behind him, looked incredibly out of place, as they headed up to the reception desk the woman sitting behind greeting them with a large smile.
"Hi! Welcome to Golden Memorial Hospital. How may I help you?"
The sunniness of the woman had caught them all off guard - they were used to the effeciency and roughness of public hospitals - sign here, sit down there, wait five hours - and here they were greeted as if they had entered a hotel.
"Yes, uhm," Bruno cleared his throat, "We are here to see Trish Una."
Immediately, the woman's face dropped.
"Miss Una will not be taking visitors from anyone but immediate family. Good day." She answered back sharply, turning back to her computer screen with an irritated expression.
Bruno's brow twitched slightly in irritation and worry - this woman here was the one preventing him from seeing Trish, and who knows what state she must be in.
"Excuse me-"
"Miss Una is not taking visitors, and with all due respect," The receptionist said, craning her neck to look around Bruno at those standing behind him.
"None of you look like immediate family."
"That's not fair!" Narancia shot back, pushing in front of Bruno and leaning over the reception desk to angrily gesture at the woman, slapping Mista away with his other hand as he tried to drag him back.
"Bruno's her father!" He exclaimed, as the receptionist raised her eyebrows and reached for the phone on the desk.
"Adoptive father, please don't call security." Bruno said almost automatically in response, reaching out a hand raised in surrender.
Of course, they could bribe her, Mista could shove his gun in her face, Fugo could get angry, Narancia could get angrier, but somehow none of these seemed like ideal decisions at all. They needed to see Trish and couldn't risk getting thrown out. Bruno placed his hand on Narancia's shoulder, Narancia spinning round to face him, a glare evident in his eyes.
Bruno gently shook his head at Narancia when he turned around to face him, and the anger drained from his face and was replaced with a look of devastation. He looked exactly how Bruno felt, but he was the adult here - he might not be the Don of Passione like Giorno, but he was the adult and had to look after them.
The group sat in the strangely comfortable plush chairs by the reception desk silently, looking up whenever someone walked past. The receptionist kept a close eye on the motley crew situated by her, but they were all too depressed to notice her watchful eye.
"I could try calling her cell again?" Giorno offered helpfully, in his usual calm tone, as he produced his Razer flip-phone.
Narancia simply shrugged deflatedly in response as Giorno dialled the number once more, holding the phone to his ear apprehensively.
The phone rang, and Giorno waited, desperately hoping for someone on the other end, anyone.
Once again, the ringing was cut off by a:
"Hi! You've reached Trish. I can't get to the phone right now but-"
Upon hearing her sunny voice through the tinny phone, Narancia let out a sob.
Mista silently wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, his eyes dark. Fugo sat next to him, staring down at his feet, unsure of what to say in such a situation.
Giorno quickly snapped his phone shut, as if to cut Trish off, as he placed it in his lap, and there was silence in the group once more.
Abbacchio huffed as he rose from his seat, smoothly grabbing the phone from Giorno's lap, receiving a wide-eyed look as protest, which Abbacchio ignored in it's entirety as he went to the receptionist.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly shushed her as he redialed the last number and held the phone out to her. The receptionist listened intently, her brow furrowed, a frown of confusion apparent on her face.
"Hi! You've reached Trish. I can't get to the phone right now but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"
Abbacchio then presented Bruno's car keys, pointing out the group photo of them all together. He glanced behind him and widened his stance slightly to hide him getting out his wallet as he removed a photo of him and Trish together - Trish smiling brightly, Abbacchio with a small smirk on his face, as he looked away from the camera, his arm could still be seen wrapped loosely around her shoulders. He cleared his throat as he replaced it in his wallet.
"I know what you must think. We're not crazed fans, we're her family. And they- We- are worried." He said to the receptionist almost pleadingly, who seemed somewhat stunned at his appeal.
The woman rubbed her lips together as she regained some composure and considered the situation. She gave a light sigh, almost bored.
"Two of you, only. Fifteen minutes maximum." She said, lips pursed as she rose to her feet, jabbing a finger at Abbacchio as she reached for her phone with her other hand.
Turning away from him, she quickly dialled a number, holding the handset up to her ear.
"Hi, Ari, it's Bianca here, I'm calling regarding some visitors for Ms. Una?...Yeah, I know. Mmm. Oh? She's awake? Is she... Okay, can you send someone down? Thanks Ari, you're a babe."
The woman put the phone down, clearing her throat.
"Two of you. Maximum. Someone will be down to escort you in a few minutes."
Abbacchio gave a short nod, before briskly walking back to the group, all of them looking hopeful, as he tossed back Giorno’s phone back to him, with the cellular device being caught almost effortlessly.
"Bucciarati. Ghirga. You're up. Someone's coming to get you." He said, flopping back down onto his seat as he closed his eyes and folded his arms. Mista began to protest, but was quickly shut down by a fierce glare from Abbacchio.