Chapter Text
“Guh… Agh… Ugh…”
“Stop making those noises. You sound like someone on the verge of death.”
“I might as well be! Once Bucciarati learns about this…”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Giorno lets out a sigh, but he truly has no room to complain about anything—not when he’s not the one who’s been turned into a doll! Narancia sulks, slumping back against the passenger seat.
Even with the wide variety of Stand Users they’ve encountered ever since they rebelled against Diavolo and Giorno became the Don, Narancia never thought he would one day experience something like this.
He was just supposed to be surveying a spot for a future meeting with a rival mafia gang (something about securing an alliance with them…?), but then he just bumped into someone (who was inconsiderate enough to just bump Into him! Him! Hasn’t he been wearing one of Giorno’s ladybugs on his collar for months now? People should have learned by now!), and now he’s just…
Narancia looks down at his hands.
[Description: Narancia has become a little doll. A plush, to be exact. He is now made of cotton and fabric and thread. And although he retains most of his characteristic aspects (such as clothes and hair), he lacks some aspects: for one, his face is stuck in a simplistic little smile, paired with big round pink cheeks. He also lacks both fingers and feet. He doesn’t even have shoes! Truly horrible.]
He doesn’t even really know what happened. One moment he was just walking, and the next he was waking up to Giorno’s horrified, shocked face—and then, a terrible pain in his side when Giorno called his name. The pain has faded now, but his “ribs” are smarting from it.
No sign of the Stand User who did this to him, of course. Giorno wasn’t there when it happened, unfortunately, and so they’re just stuck with investigating with barely a hint. As for Narancia’s state… Giorno suggested that the effects of the Stand would disappear if they got far away enough, but they’ve already gone quite a few kilometers and Narancia is still stuck as a doll.
“…We can’t tell Bucciarati,” Giorno says, interrupting Narancia’s thoughts. His eyes are flicking towards him with the same hesitance he’s had since Narancia woke up. Like he’s not sure if what he’s saying is right. Like he’s lost his footing. Very much not like the usual Giorno.
“What? Why not? Are we doing a special secret mission?”
Giorno’s lips pinch. He avoids Narancia’s gaze. “Don’t you remember what happened when you woke up? After I recognized you as Narancia, instead of just a doll which looked like you…”
“Uh…” At the time, Narancia was too busy dealing with the unbearable pain in his side. “No?”
“You got hurt. One of the stitches in your side ripped, and some of the cotton filling spilled out. Thankfully I was able to put most of it back inside, but…”
“So what?”
“The ripping of the thread was most likely caused due to me recognizing that the doll was, in fact, you,” Giorno summarizes quickly. His knuckles have become white, from how hard he’s gripping the wheel. “If someone realizes that you are the doll—or rather, that you have become a doll—then your body will be damaged.” He inhales sharply. “We can’t tell Bucciarati!”
Narancia would gape at him if he could. Just what is Giorno saying!? Are they supposed to handle this on their own…? “But isn’t it fine? You were able to put back the cotton, right? And it doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He looks down at his side, where the thread is still broken. “And you can fix it if necessary, right? You’re our healer.”
Giorno’s eyebrows actually crease up. “I can’t heal you.”
“…You can’t?”
“You’re not… You’re not a living being, Narancia. You’re a doll. I can’t heal you.”
Narancia’s soul blanches. “Oh. Oh…”
It feels weird, to think that for once he can’t rely on Giorno to heal him at the slightest hurt. They’ve all gotten used to Giorno’s healing abilities, to the point where most of them don’t hesitate to put themselves in harm’s way if it means that the mission gets completed—anything for their goal.
And now…
Is that why Giorno has been acting so weird? Narancia tilts his head back, trying to peer up at Giorno’s face. Maybe he’s just stressed because he can’t heal Narancia. Or maybe because he can’t count on Narancia to secure the location for the meeting anymore…
“It’s troublesome that you didn’t even get a glimpse of your attacker,” Giorno continues, sounding distracted, like it’s more a thought to himself than anything. “It’ll take a while to find who did this.”
“Maybe I’ll be able to tell,” Narancia cheers. “Once I see them, I’ll show them why you don’t mess with Passione. Really! Why have people not learned yet? The whole of Naples knows about you by now!”
Giorno interrupts: “You won’t be coming with me.”
“…What!?”
“You are too vulnerable, like this,” Giorno continues, merciless. He’s not even meeting Narancia’s gaze—and he can’t pretend it’s because he’s driving, not when they’ve all seen him do much, much worse than just looking away while driving. “You’ll be safer if you stay at home.”
Narancia can’t exactly deny the fact that he’s a bit useless like this. He’s just a small doll! Even just a dog could eat him whole in one bite. But staying at home? That will feel horrible. Just waiting for it to end, with barely any info about what’s happening… He can’t even eat snacks like this—he doesn't have a mouth! …Or at least, not one that opens.
“But… But you said we can’t tell Bucciarati?”
“You can hide in my room,” Giorno says. He doesn’t look terribly happy at the idea either. “I would say you can stay in your own room, but… The traffic will be too high.”
Narancia is so shocked that he can only remark on that: “Traffic…? Who would be going into my room?”
“I can’t say the truth about your situation, which means I can’t tell anyone that you are actually fine and just waiting at home. I’ll have to make them think that you’re missing.”
Narancia would gape if he could. “What!?”
“I don’t—” He stops, inhales, and his usual mask of forced calm is back on. “We don’t have any other choice.”
“We’re not even sure that them knowing will actually hurt me!”
“And we’re not going to test that!” Giorno bites out, harsh, breaking his composure again. “Narancia, I’m not willing to bet your life on this! I can’t… I can’t save you if something goes wrong…!” He stops. His eyes flicker around nervously, like he’s not sure what other arguments he can use. “A few days of worry is nothing compared to your life.”
“…OK,” Narancia agrees, hiding his worry behind a begrudging tone. For once, he’s not sure that being honest will get him anywhere. If he asks Giorno about what just happened… it would only result in more trouble.
A kitten. You gotta let him come to you. He just needs to be patient, and then Giorno will come back to him.
Silence ensues, only the sound of the car accompanying them. The GPS shows that they’re just minutes away from home. Minutes away from Narancia having to squirrel away in Giorno’s room for who knows how long.
Giorno’s voice breaks the silence.
“I just…”
Hesitant, soft. Narancia can barely hear him over the sound of the engine.
“I just don’t want to risk your life for this… Please just give me a few days.”
Oh. So that’s why? Giorno should have just told him.
“OK.” Narancia nods gravely. Only the little stitched smile on his face breaks the serious tone. “I trust you, dude. I just wish I could help you more, you know?”
“I know.” Giorno smiles back. He already looks tired. “Thank you.”
.
.
.
“Oomph.”
Narancia’s little doll body only makes a light sound when he hits the ground. He picks himself up, disgruntled but not hurt, and continues on his descent.
Why are the stairs so damn tall!? It would be so much easier if he could get someone to carry him down…
Okay, so maybe Narancia is supposed to be in Giorno’s room. Maybe he’s supposed to be waiting patiently for Giorno to come back after explaining the situation (aka lying) to their team. Maybe.
It’s not his fault that he got impatient!
Giorno promised that he would leave the TV on later (because, of course, he has a TV in his room. Narancia can’t count the number of nights they’ve spent watching TV together), but he didn’t, this time! Probably because Bucciarati knocked on the door just as Giorno was about to, interrupting him and forcing him out of the room quickly in order to not be suspicious. He can’t just turn the TV on and then leave immediately right in front of Bucciarati.
And it’s not like Narancia didn’t try to be patient and just wait… he’s not sure how much time has passed already, but it already feels like a century. It’s just… it feels weird to just wait when he knows that they’re discussing him downstairs. It feels… jittery. If his body was still human, his knee would be jumping up and down.
As it is though, Narancia only managed to force his way out of the room (Giorno did leave the door slightly open just in case an emergency arose) and then stumbled to his current position: trying to inconspicuously get down the stairs.
He can hear the rest of the gang talking from the living room: Abbacchio’s angered, distrusting voice (ouchie. Poor Giorno), Fugo’s nervous muttering, Mista’s usual chatter, Trish’s unimpressed questions, and Giorno’s calm explanations…
Wait.
Narancia goes still, even letting himself fall limp against the ground.
Where’s Bucciarati?
Just seconds later, vibrations in the ground shake him lightly, and then: “…What is this?”
Of course, it’s Bucciarati’s voice. Fuck.
Narancia has never been more thankful for his instincts. Giorno would have killed him if he’d already let Bucciarati discover the truth, just moments after they came back home.
Though his position isn’t optimal, Narancia can still see Bucciarati’s face down the stairs, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.
…There’s already stress on his face. Narancia isn’t used to him being so full of emotion. Bucciarati and Giorno aren’t that different, in the end.
As Bucciarati starts climbing up the stairs, Narancia feels his doll-heart throb painfully. If he still had to breathe, he would be holding it back, acting dead. Has Bucciarati already…? No. If Bucciarati had already understood that Narancia has become a doll, he would be feeling a horrible pain again, right? Or maybe Giorno’s theory is wrong…
Before long, Bucciarati is picking him up, holding him to eye-level.
[Description: Doll Narancia is being held in Bucciarati’s hand. His body is loose, doll-like.]
“…What a strange doll,” he says quietly. “Narancia?”
He almost starts nodding, so used to answering to Bucciarati’s every word. Thankfully, he only has time to tilt his head slightly before he realizes what he’s doing—which might look like just a doll having a loose neck to Bucciarati.
Bucciarati doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with the sight. A small smile graces his face. “A doll of Narancia, hm? Who made you?”
The thumb of the hand holding him up touches his cheek slightly. Bucciarati’s eyes… are incredibly fond.
It feels like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be allowed to see… Of course, he’s aware of Bucciarati’s affection for him, but… This gaze… Just like how his mother used to look at him.
The spell soon breaks. Bucciarati’s smile disappears, replaced with pinched lips. His hold on Narancia tightens lightly.
Just what did Giorno tell them? Which white lies did he say? To make Bucciarati look like this…
“Narancia…” His voice comes out in a mutter, like an unwilling thought that somehow escaped him. His eyes flicker, taking in each detail of Narancia’s doll face. “Where are you?”