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Bruno Bucciarati stared at his team, arms folded over his chest, eyes and mouth set in disappointment.
"You understand why I'm disappointed," he said. "I honestly just don't entirely understand how this happened."
The remains of a package—a very important, expensive package that they had been tasked to deliver—sat on Bucciarati's desk, all but obliterated.
"I mean, I had all of you on this one it was so important. Surely one of you could have prevented this."
He gazed out at his team. Giorno and Fugo ducked their heads, Mista frowned, Narancia fidgeted and Abbacchio folded his arms over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line.
"We were attacked," Narancia said quietly.
"Yes, and you were the one who was supposed to be guarding the package during that attack since you have a long-range Stand!" Fugo suddenly snapped.
"Yeah, and half of the problems wouldn't have arisen if you could even control your Stand!" Narancia shot back.
"We still all had our assigned roles barring any problem," Abbacchio gritted out. "The least you all could have done was follow them."
"It wasn't working out considering how we were attacked!" Mista protested.
"Yeah!" Narancia pointed out. "And Giorno couldn't do his part because he was healing Mista—again."
"That doesn't excuse you leaving your position and ultimately getting the package ruined!" Fugo shouted.
"Enough!" Bucciarati slammed his hands down on the desk and they all stopped, looking at him sheepishly. "I didn't call you here for excuses. I just want you to do better next time so this doesn't happen again. Understand?"
"We're sorry, Bucciarati," Giorno said sincerely.
Bucciarati refrained from sighing. Sometimes this job was exhausting. "That's fine. Just pay more attention to things in the future."
He dismissed them and sank back into his chair. Honestly, he was glad he would be going to Rome for the next week for a conference. He needed a break.
The next morning, Bucciarati gathered what he would need for his plan, and found the others at breakfast.
"Good morning," he said with a smile. "Listen up. While I'm gone in Rome, I want you to do a little exercise to practice responsibility." He pulled open the bag he was carrying and took out a sack of flour, placing it in front of Giorno.
The boy looked at it confused. "Um…what is this?"
"These will be your babies for the week," Bucciarati informed them, distributing the sacks of flour around the table as his team stared incredulously. "You will care for these like you would an actual baby." He set one in front of Trish too.
"Wait, me?" she cried. "I wasn't part of the failed mission!"
"No, but it will be good for you too," Bruno told her and turned to hand the last flour sack to Abbacchio.
"No," the other man said instantly.
"Abbacchio," Bruno insisted.
Abbacchio grabbed the flour sack one handed and shook it in Bucciarati's face. "I don't need to take care of a sack of flour to prove I'm more responsible than a bunch of teenagers."
"Lead by example," Bucciarati told him, patting the top of the flour sack. "And that is not how you hold a baby."
Abbacchio dropped the sack onto the table and folded his arms over his chest, lip curling.
"I would really like to see all of these babies still alive when I get back," Bruno called as he headed toward the door, grabbing his bags.
And that was that.
Frankly, he didn't have a lot of hope.
~~~~~~~~
Everyone stared at each other a little awkwardly when Bucciarati left. Trish looked like she was re-thinking her life, Fugo actually looked nervous. Narancia was turning his flour sack around and around before setting it gently on the table and grinning.
"I like it. I'm naming him Fred."
Abbacchio snorted and stood up, grabbing his dirty dishes.
Giorno poked his tentatively. "Um…I don't really know what to do with it. What exactly does Bucciarati expect?" He frowned. "It's not actually a living thing, so how are we expected to take care of it like a real baby?"
"Do not get any ideas, brat," Abbacchio growled at Giorno, jabbing a finger in his direction. "The last thing I want is to listen to some squalling thing you create from a flour sack all week!"
"It's not that hard, I did this in school," Mista told them, picking up his own flour sack. "You just have to make sure it doesn't get lost or damaged."
"Easier said than done," Fugo muttered narrowing his eyes at Narancia.
"For the last time, it wasn't my fault!" Narancia snapped, and covered the corners of his flour sack with his hands. "And don't fight in front of the children!"
"Kill me now," Trish sighed and picked up her flour sack. "I'm going to be keeping my baby in my room away from all of you. That way nothing could possibly happen to it."
Mista picked his up too and set it comfortably into the crook of his arm. "Come on, Pistols, come meet your new sibling."
The Pistols manifested and swarmed the flour sack with exclamations of excitement.
"Can we eat it?" Number 3 asked.
"No, you cannot eat it!" Mista said firmly. "We're taking care of it."
They seemed to accept that and continued to coo over the fake baby.
Narancia began to 'play' with the flour sack, bouncing it on his knee. "I think Fred and I are going to get along well. I bet he's the only one who survives the week."
Fugo picked up his flour sack and held it almost cautiously in front of him. "Well, I guess Bucciarati does have a point. This might actually be good for all of us."
A cry came from Narancia and everyone turned to see him staring down in horror at an explosion of flour that had half covered him.
"Fred!" he cried, staring at the broken flour sack on the floor.
Fugo covered his face with his hands. Trish held her flour baby tighter.
"Seriously, Narancia?" she demanded.
"Not even ten minutes," Fugo sighed.
"I didn't mean to!" Narancia said, clutching his hair. "Bucciarati's going to kill me!"
"No, worse, he'll be disappointed," Trish told him sincerely.
Abbacchio rolled his eyes and picked his flour sack up, tossing it to Narancia. "Here, take mine."
Narancia miraculously caught it with a fumble but placed it on the table, sliding it back toward Abbacchio. "No way, this is your baby, Abbacchio. It's your responsibility." His grin faded slightly at the goth's deadly glower before he turned to Trish.
"Trish…"
"No," she said quickly.
"I didn't even say anything yet!"
"Still no!" she said and hurried away to her room.
Narancia sighed and knelt among the flour. "I'm so sorry, Fred," he said sadly.
"Clean that up," Abbacchio told him.
Mista grabbed a kitchen towel to wrap his flour sack in. "Come on, Mista Jr. let's go see what's on TV."
Giorno got up from the table. "I need to get some work done."
"Same," Fugo said.
Narancia looked up from attempting to clean up the flour. "Giorno! You forgot your baby!"
"Uh…oh," Giorno turned and hurriedly grabbed the flour sack before heading to his office. "Right."
Narancia finished cleaning up the carnage as Abbacchio sat down with another cup of tea, eyeing the flour sack and wondering what he should make for dinner.
~~~~~~~
Not very much later, Trish sat with her flour sack on her desk, drawing a face on it with some makeup when there was a knock on her door.
"What?" she demanded.
Narancia peeked his head in.
"Go away!" Trish told him.
"You didn't listen to my idea earlier," he said. "I thought we could co-parent together."
Trish narrowed her eyes at him. "Why would I do that just because you killed your own flour sack baby?"
"I didn't mean to!" Narancia said. "Besides, if both of us keep an eye on one of them, then that doubles the chance of it surviving, right?"
"I don't know, I think co-parenting with you would decrease its life expectancy."
"Come on, Trish, please," Narancia pleaded. "I have to find some way for Bucciarati to think I'm responsible."
Trish sighed and rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, but only so you stop complaining."
"Yay!" Narancia grinned and hopped over to the desk, crouching beside Trish to stare at the flour sack she had drawn the face on. "She's pretty. What are we calling our daughter?"
Trish shuddered. "It's so weird when you say it like that."
~~~~~~~
The first day passed without another casualty, thankfully. The next day started with breakfast and the team all convened in the kitchen, with flour sacks in tow—except Abbacchio's which had gone where it belonged: in the cupboard.
"We should call her Bella," Narancia told Trish, still trying to come up with a name.
"I still can't believe Trish let you co-parent with her after what happened to Fred," Mista commented as he sat his flour sack next to another place, the Pistols offering it food.
"Don't mention Fred!" Narancia snapped.
"It's easier than having him continuously ask," Trish said with a sigh.
Giorno stared contemplatively at his flour sack, not really understanding the big deal about it. After all, what would keeping a flour sack intact for a week really teach anyone? But he supposed Bucciarati had his own reasons.
He carried it to the office after breakfast and set it on his desk while he worked.
About an hour later, Fugo came in. "Giorno, Signore Costello is here with his report."
"Oh, right, tell him to come in," Giorno said, setting his pen down.
He was still a little nervous about meeting the capos without Bucciarati, but he had promised to handle business while their team leader was gone and he was determined not to mess that up.
As Fugo left, he glanced over and saw the flour sack still sitting on his desk.
"Oh, crap," he muttered, slightly panicked. He couldn't be seen with a flour sack on his desk—he was the Don of Passione after all. He opened several drawers but none were big enough to conceal it without dumping all of their contents out. Hurriedly, he called out Gold Experience and had his Stand quickly turn the flour sack into a frog which hopped off the desk just as Fugo opened the door to let the visiting capo into the room.
"Signore, how are you today?" Giorno asked nonchalantly as the frog settled on his foot. "Please sit."
After the meeting, Giorno forgot entirely that the flour sack had existed. The frog hopped through the house.
~~~~~~~~
The next couple days were pretty uneventful. Narancia and Trish finally settled on "Farina" as a name for their baby and Trish would even sometimes let Narancia hold it when she was feeling generous and he was sitting still.
"Giorno, what even happened to your baby?" Mista asked as he sat on the couch, reading, his own flour sack sitting wrapped in a blanket, on a pillow beside him.
Giorno bit his lip. "Um…I sort of misplaced it."
Narancia and Trish shot him accusing looks.
"How do you misplace a baby?" Trish demanded.
"It was on my desk with Signore Costello came and I had Gold Experience turn it into a frog so he wouldn't wonder why I had a sack of flour on my desk."
Abbacchio actually snorted at that as he walked through the room.
"The frog hopped away," Giorno added helplessly, shrugging. "I don't really know what to do about that."
"Well at least three of us still have our children," Narancia said.
"Speak for yourself," Trish snipped as he started bouncing Farina on his knee again and she confiscated the flour sack.
Narancia folded his arms over his chest. "Well, except Abbacchio who locked his baby in the pantry!"
"Shut up, brat, I know how to take care of real children, I don't need to play house," Abbacchio growled. "I have to look after all of you every day."
Narancia stuck his tongue out at him and leaned over Trish's shoulder to try and take the flour sack again, but she tilted away from him, jamming her elbow into his ribs.
~~~~~~~~
The next day, Fugo came into the living room, eyes blazing. "Okay, who took my flour sack?!"
Narancia instantly turned indignant. "Why are you looking at me?"
"Because of Fred," Fugo said firmly.
"Well, I'm over that, I didn't take it," Narancia insisted.
Fugo spun around toward Giorno. "What about you? You 'lost' yours!"
Giorno held his hands up in defense. "I swear I didn't take it, Fugo. I couldn't even remember the one Bucciarati gave me."
Fugo growled, fists clenching. "Well, one of you has it! It didn't just walk out of my room last night!"
A gurgling sound was suddenly heard down the hall and Narancia frowned looking up. "What's that?"
Fugo paled slightly. "Um…" He moved cautiously down the hall, the others following with curiosity and then surprise as they saw what the source of the noise was.
Purple Haze was sitting in the corner, not at all having been called out by his user, tipping the flour sack back and forth as if playing with it, and gurgling happily.
"Purple Haze!" Fugo snapped at his Stand. "What are you doing?!"
The Stand looked up briefly before going back to playing with the flour sack.
"Put that down!" Fugo said, taking a step toward his Stand. "It's not yours to play with!"
Purple Haze grunted and turned toward the wall, ignoring Fugo.
The teen clenched his fists and growled. "Purple Haze! You put that down now! Why are you ignoring me?!"
The Stand made a sad sound and turned back around, drool dripping from his bottom lip before landing on his knee.
The Stand's eyes widened and he made distressed noises, trying to wipe the saliva off of his leg.
"Purple Haze, stop that!" Fugo snapped.
Purple Haze got to his feet, practically tripping over himself to clean his leg off and in the struggle, the flour sack fell to the ground.
Everyone stopped and held their breath as a puff of flour exploded from the broken sack.
Fugo stood staring at the broken flour sack. Purple Haze stood staring at the broken flour sack. Everyone else stood staring at the broken flour sack.
And then Purple Haze let out a furious scream and clenched his fists, turning to start punching the wall in anger.
"Oh crap," Narancia cried as several of the poisonous capsules on Purple Haze's knuckles broke.
"Everyone out, now!" Abbacchio shouted from behind the others.
"Farina!" Trish cried. "I forgot her in the living room!"
"Leave it!" Abbacchio snapped, urging the teens toward the door as Purple Haze's virus began to spread.
"I got her!" Narancia cried dashing into the living room to grab the flour sack and sprinting out into the yard.
"Giorno!" Abbacchio snapped at the blond who was doddling, as if torn with the idea of helping Fugo or running for his life. "Get your ass out of here!"
"But I'm immune," he said a second before Abbacchio grabbed him and shoved him through the door.
To yet another disaster.
Narancia was running out the door, holding Farina triumphantly in his arms toward Trish, when he tripped over a misplaced cobblestone.
Narancia fell hard, striking his elbow, and Farina flew from his grasp. It was like watching everything happen in slow motion. Farina arched toward the side of the path and then fell where she got impaled on the small wrought iron barrier around the planters. Everyone watched in horror as flour started to leak out of the holes in the bag.
"Bucciarati's coming back tomorrow," Mista said, still holding onto his own flour sack. "Enjoy explaining."
"I want a divorce," Trish told Narancia as she stalked off to slump onto a bench, face in her hands.
Narancia went limp, head pressed against the cobblestones.
A frog hopped through the garden, landing on Narancia's back before making its way peacefully toward another bush.
~~~~~~~~
The next day Bucciarati stood in front of his team as they sheepishly presented him with the remains of the flour sacks. One just the wrapper, one in a biohazard bag, one in a shoebox wrapped in tape and two conspicuously absent.
Mista stood off to one side with a smirk, holding his still perfectly intact flour sack as the Pistols swarmed around it, cooing.
"I don't know what to say," Bruno said in disappointment, sinking down into his chair at the kitchen table. Abbacchio quietly set a cup of coffee at his elbow. Bucciarati took it and drank half in one long swallow.
"Narancia killed two," Trish pointed out. "Mine would have been fine if he hadn't made me co-parent with him."
"Giorno lost his and forgot about it!" Narancia added. "You should punish him for neglect! At least I actually tried!"
"You killed Fred ten minutes after Bucciarati left!" Trish shouted.
"I…am really sorry about this, Bucciarati," Fugo said sincerely. "I don't know how or why Purple Haze decided to play with mine."
Bruno sighed tiredly and took a huge bite of the pancakes Abbacchio placed in front of him. "I can't believe that Mista is the only one who is responsible enough to make sure nothing happens to a flour sack for one week. I shudder to think if you had all been caring for an actual child!"
Abbacchio sat down with his own cup of coffee and Bucciarati speared him with a look. "And you, Abbacchio? Where is yours?"
Abbacchio took a long sip of coffee. "Enjoy the pancakes," was all he said.
Bruno looked down at his half-eaten plate of food, and suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. He pushed it away.
"That's it. Everyone go out to the garden. Bring the…remains."
That morning, they held a funeral for the deceased flour sacks, even the one Abbacchio had used for the pancakes. Narancia and Trish laid Farina gently into the ground in the shoebox next to the others. Mista covered his flour sack with its blanket as the Pistols cried. Abbacchio began shoveling dirt over the makeshift grave, grumbling to himself.
"I am quite disappointed," Bruno told all of them. "But I also am confident you'll do better next time."
A frog hopped through the garden and landed on Bucciarati's shoe, making him look down.
"Oh," Giorno said and bent to pick up the frog. "That's where it got to."
Bucciarati sighed heavily.
Sometimes, he just really didn't know what to do about his team.