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Despite the fact that the war against the former head of Passione had ended a day ago, in the coliseum, not all the members of his Special Unit had got the memorandum.
And it wasn't like sitting down and talking was an option. Not when their attackers were aiming to kill.
Giorno and his Gold Experience Requiem would surely have finished off the fight in the blink of an eye, but they had made the stupid mistake of splitting into two groups. Naively, they had believed that with Diavolo dead (or whatever Giorno had done to him), they were safe. So, while Giorno and Bucciarati went back to Sardinia to search for Abbacchio's body, hoping that Requiem could bring him back just as he had with Bucciarati, Polnareff and Narancia, the rest had the goal of locating Diavolo's mansion, because according to the information found on his phone, it was situated in Rome.
The good news was that, according to what Bucciarati had told them on the phone a few hours ago, Abbacchio was back among the living.
The fucked up thing was that… Well, they had been ambushed by not one, but two Stand users.
In theory, with Aerosmith and the Sex Pistols with them, taking out their attackers should have been a piece of cake. However, one of the enemy Stands was a fucking headache: said Stand was composed of a silver fluid, similar in appearance to mercury, that changed from liquid to solid in the blink of an eye and moved even faster than Polnareff's Silver Chariot. And, to make their situation worse, said Stand could fragment, forming small projectiles that returned to the original Stand after hitting a solid object.
The only reason they were still alive was because Trish had refused to stay in Coco Jumbo's clone, as she had been ordered. Spice Girl had helped them avoid lethal injuries by using her ability on them to make them technically indestructible.
However, they knew that it was not a sustainable situation. Especially for Fugo, who had received two bullet wounds, reflected by said Stand.
The Stand itself did not have a very long range. Maybe twenty meters, according to Fugo. And its user, with one leg in a cast, moved slowly. Escaping would have been the most viable... If the remaining Stand hadn't created a kind of electric dome around the park they were in.
Long story short, they were screwed.
"We only need to kill one of the two," Mista muttered, loading the pistol that temporarily replaced his revolver. They had managed to take shelter inside Coco Jumbo #2, hiding the turtle in some bushes.
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Mista. Any suggestions about how ?” Fugo spited.
Trish was opening her mouth, probably to tell them to shut the fuck off, when Polnareff stepped forward.
“This isn’t the moment. We need to try to make a plan before that thing finds us.”
Fugo clenched his fists, but remained silent: He had to think of something. He was the one with the plans in those situations.
His stand would probably have been a viable option if not for the weather. There was too much wind and not enough sun. The virus could easily spread before it was killed, and there was no way to get close enough without Trish's help.
There had to be a solution. But the blood loss made it hard to think. Or stay awake.
Yeah, he felt like shit. And judging by Narancia's anguished expression and the way he didn't take his eyes off him, he must have looked like shit too.
A small beep alerted them all: It was the cell phone that Bucciarati had left them to communicate with the rest of the group.
“Giorno got a car. He says that he will be here in thirty minutes.”
Fugo let out a sigh of relief. He didn't know if he was going to survive for thirty minutes. Probably not. But if there was a body, Giorno could probably bring them back. I mean, if they'd been able to make it with Abbacchio, dealing with a fresh corpse should be a child’s play for Requiem.
Narancia didn’t seem to share his opinion.
"Fugo doesn't have thirty minutes!"
"Waiting is the most prudent thing to do," answered the blond, without denying Narancia's words.
If he had been a little more aware, Fugo would have known, just from the way he clenched his fists, that Narancia was about to do something stupid. And maybe he would have knocked him out to stop him.
"I'm going to kill that bastard," he hissed through his teeth. And Fugo realized that it wasn't an expression, but a warning about his plans a second to late, when Narancia jumped out of the turtle.
"Narancia, no!" Fugo and Trish yelled at the same time.
Fugo knew that Narancia had just thrown himself into certain death.
And he didn't know if Giorno could bring him back a second time.
Or if there would even be a corpse left to try.
But he wasn't going to find out either. If he lost Narancia a second time, even temporarily, he was going to lose his mind.
So, without thinking, he also jumped out of the turtle, after him.
When he came out, it was easy to focus on Narancia. Running straight into danger, his Aerosmith flying at his side.
Fugo didn't even try to call out his name. He just ran towards him.
The rest of the things happened too quickly for anyone involved to remember clearly.
Fugo pushed Narancia, making him fall to the ground.
He felt something hit his stomach. There was no pain, just the shock, and the distant notion that something was out of place.
He heard Purple Haze roar, even though he didn't remember calling him.
He saw Narancia's terrified face, spattered with blood.
And between screams and more screams, everything went black.
When Fugo woke up again, it took a couple of minutes for his last memories to come back. But as soon as they did, Fugo immediately tried to get to his feet. Bad idea: his head swam.
"Easy, Fugo. Everyone is fine. There’s no hurry.”
Fugo blinked a few times before Polnareff's figure took shape in front of his eyes, barely distinguishable in the gloom. They were in an unfamiliar room, but from what little he had seen, it seemed luxurious. They were probably in Diavolo's old mansion. He let out a tired sight, and his throat burned when he did: he was fucking thirsty.
"Narancia?" he asked in a raspy voice. He knew that he probably fell into that 'everyone' category, but he had to be sure.
“Not a single scratch. He was pretty lucky. There's a bottle of water on the nightstand. Bucciarati left it for you.”
Fugo felt an invisible weight leave his chest.
“And me? Was I dead?” he asked after drinking half a bottle, more calmly than any teenager should talk about his own death.
Polnareff shook his head.
“Almost. Trish and I managed to make some kind of cloth stopper, to keep you from bleeding to death while Giorno arrived. We use Narancia's skirt.”
Fugo couldn't help but feel guilty, knowing that it was one of Narancia's favorite clothes. That was a stupid train of thought, feeling like he was replaceable and that piece of cloth wasn't, when it was just the opposite, but some childhood scars just never heal.
"Did you manage to kill that son of a bitch?" he asked, to distract himself. Polnareff gave a small chuckle.
“Yes. You did it. Or well, your Stand, but it counts as an extension of you.”
"But… wasn't I unconscious?"
“You were. But your Stand remained active.”
Fugo's blood ran cold. The thought of Purple Haze hanging around on his account, with no one checking on him...
"Did he hurt anyone?"
Polnareff smirked, as if Fugo had just told him a private joke.
“Only Diavolo's minion.” Fugo was beginning to feel the air return to his lungs, until Polnareff spoke again. "But... Well, we have a situation with your Stand."
“What are you talking about?” Fugo asked cautiously.
Without saying a word, the Frenchman held out one of the turtles.
"Is there something wrong with the turtle?" He asked, confused, because the animal looked quite alive. Polnareff shook his head.
“Your Stand is inside. With Narancia.”
Fugo thought he had misheard.
“What? ”
"He hadn’t let anyone get near him. Only Giorno's Stand, who was the one who somehow convinced Purple Haze to enter the turtle, so we could move.”
"And they left him stuck with that thing all this time?! He may be dead! Giorno won't be able to bring him back if there isn't a corpse!”
Fugo didn't realize when he had gotten to his feet, but he had. Polnareff stared back at him from the height of his wheelchair, unperturbed.
“It was Narancia who…”
Fugo didn't let him finish. He just entered the turtle, expecting the worst.
But no. The image that greeted him was almost... peaceful.
Purple Haze was sitting in a corner, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Narancia, lying on his lap, snored softly.
The idiot had fallen asleep, not caring about the danger.
Furious, Fugo vanished his Stand. Narancia woke up with a yelp, his head hitting the ground as the physical representation of Fugo’s soul was replaced by air.
"What the fuck, Fugo!”
"If you want to die that much, I can do you the fucking favor! You are a fucking imbecile!”
Apparently, the screaming had roused Narancia enough for him to fight back.
"You have no right to say that! You almost bleed to death!”
"That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't run off like an idiot! We just had to wait!”
Fugo expected Narancia to yell back, or throw something at him. Maybe that he lunged at him, trying to hit him.
But Narancia just looked at him with wide eyes, before bursting into tears. And that felt worse than a stab to the stomach (something Fugo could tell).
"Hey Nara. I'm sorry…” he muttered, flopping down next to him, not knowing if he should hug him or not. Narancia solved his doubt, throwing himself into his arms.
"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have..."
Fugo agreed that Narancia shouldn't have done a lot of things, but he too was too tired to argue. Not just for that afternoon’s fight, but for that entire hellish week.
"Let's not talk about that now," he whispered, before kissing his lips. It wasn't their first kiss, it was the second, but that time in the coliseum they hadn't had the opportunity to properly enjoy it, with everyone jumping on Narancia to make sure that he really was alive. Fugo had wanted to talk about the kiss ever since, to make sure it had meant the same thing to Narancia as it did to him.
Though he didn't need a verbal response. Not with Narancia clinging to his hair to deepen the kiss, still sobbing.
And for once, Narancia did what he had asked him to.