Work Text:
To un-explain the unforgivable,
Drain all the blood and give the kids a show!
"You need to drink something, Trish."
Bruno propped her up, kicking himself for not noticing how ill she'd become. It has been his fault that she'd been taken, after all. A lapse in concentration, and the team had lost her. Thankfully, it hadn’t been hard to track her down, what with her scent being easy to follow. Still… it had taken longer than he’d hoped. "Blacking out would be less than ideal."
"I am acutely aware of that," the Dhampir bit back. Her frame was rocked by a wave of nausea. She tried to stand up, then fell forward, tumbling into her former bodyguard's arms. With a wince, Trish sighed. "We lack smelling salts, so that option is out of the question. I most likely require blood, but there are no blood sources anywhere near..."
...Bruno knew that this was, factually, untrue. There was one: "There's me."
Trish looked at him, wide-eyed, blinking slowly as she replied, “...I don’t think that is how that works, Bucciarati.”
“It can’t hurt to try. After all, it is the least that I can do, considering I am the reason that you are in this predicament to begin with.”
Trying to push herself up and away from Bruno, wincing as one of the manacle bruises on her wrist hit the nearby wall: “No, I was supposed to be more vigilant.”
“Trish Una, do not blame yourself for being drugged and kidnapped.” The tone he used was one inch away from that of a concerned parent about to launch into a tirade of scolding. “Let me help you.” Then, more softly, his desperation and concern peeking through the smallest bit: “Please.”
The two simmered in simultaneous stubbornness and self-flagellation before, finally, Trish relented. Taking his hand and allowing herself to be led to seating, she tried (and failed) to hide that she was on the verge of collapse. Her hair tumbled out of its pompadour, which she tried to adjust in an effort to save face. “...Let us get this over with.”
"I know you prefer drinking from a cup," he said sheepishly, "but desperate times call for desperate measures." He, taking off his jacket and placing it against the arm of the couch, rolled up his sleeve and offered her the upper part of his arm. She noticed that it was littered in battle scars and, shockingly enough, freckles. (Must have been from before he’d been turned.)
“...Are you sure?”
Bucciarati nodded. Trish, meanwhile, looked as if she were about to vomit. Yet, an apology in her eyes, the girl complied, her eyes flashing scarlet and her fangs emerging. With a now-clawed hand, she brought Bruno's arm up to her mouth. In a combination pinch and tickling sensation, the vampire felt a light suction, and presumed that she had begun to feed.
It was going well overall; no massive negative side effects. It was such a change from the last time he'd been bitten, by her father… The memory flashed through his mind. All Bruno had known in those moments, the vampire lord’s blood mingling with his own, drowning him, was pain. For Diavolo it had been a game; a sick, sadistic game. A display of power. Of making Bruno suffer for the sin of his kindness in such a cutthroat world.
That monster’s daughter, on the other hand, understood the sanctity of being offered one's blood. Like a faithful at communion, she only took as much of the blood of her savior, of the everlasting covenant of agape, as she needed, and no more. Despite the light discomfort in his arm, Bruno used his free hand to ruffle the girl's hair kindly. He noticed that she was reluctantly sipping as well, only taking the bare minimum to stop her from passing out.
Yet, as she did so, he felt shaking begin beside him, and dampness that was too cold to be blood on his arm. He looked down to see the girl, teary eyed. Trish couldn't even bring herself to sit back up as, once satiated, she unlatched herself from her friend's arm.
"...Bucciarati." The girl wiped the blood off her face with the back of her hand. "Why didn't you tell me it hurt so much?"
He chuckled. "...It only felt like a pinch. If I am to be frank, it also tickled a bit. I'm fine. It didn’t hurt me." He ran a hand through her hair once more.
"No… Not this." she said, sniffling. Trish had trouble maintaining her composure as she clarified: "I mean, why didn't you ever tell me how much it hurt when my father turned you?"
Bruno went silent at that. Of course he’d forgotten that she could read the minds of those from whom she drank… Trish, suspicions and guilt confirmed, broke down. While the vampire sat there awkwardly, he rifled through his mind for how to calm the kid down. Maybe he could utilize what had caused her so much sadness to ameliorate the situation.
"...Drink some more, passerotta,” he said, surprising himself.
She let out a small noise in confusion, to which he gestured once more to his arm. Still, taking a catch-breath between a sob, she complied, returning her fangs to the vampire's arm once more.
Bruno wasn't entirely sure how Trish's powers worked; neither was she. Regardless, he tried to make clear what was so obvious to him, but which was obfuscated by her obvious guilt. Glass shards of memories, cutting through his consciousness, followed:
"You could never understand what's in my heart—the lengths I go to to protect the innocent." In response, the Boss's feral eyes. Bruno, vowing with the last of his humanity to protect her, trying and failing to pick her up. The one thing he felt, enough to take the edge off of his pain, enough to make him gloss over his own blood coating a sword on the ground, enough to propel his legs forward between hacking up blood, was the mandate he had sworn to her; his promise.
…That probably did not exactly help to refute the point she'd made moments before. He then drew upon another memory.
While she was recuperating after what had happened in Venice, she was asleep on a chaise-longue. Dead to the world. So, it was no wonder that she barely stirred when Bruno, still nursing his wounds himself, placed a blanket on top of her.
Bruno, stewing in shame, standing in the corner after Trish had raided a chicken coop, sobbing with avian blood all over her mouth and hands. He’d fucked up. She, on the other hand, had been amazing. Why couldn’t he be more forthright?
The dhampir cleaned herself off while Giorno explained her nascent inhumanity to her with boundless sympathy, “...It's not something you have to be ashamed of, Trish. That, I promise you."
As Trish asked of her father’s fate, Bruno met her gaze: “Your father is a corrupt vampire lord.” Then, with the same tone of voice used by a witch casting a spell, willing a vow into being: “...And we are going to take him down.
The sheer amount of pride that filled Bucciarati’s heart as her gaze didn’t waver and she declared that she would join their efforts, upon remembering it again, almost bowled him over. He hoped she understood that.
Opening the crypt, earlier in the day. The girl, isolated, chained to a wall. Rage, unadulterated rage at seeing her in this state. A swell within his chest as she said his name, so happy. As dusk became darkness, he hauled her away to the abandoned cabin in which they currently resided. It was a sort of echo to the meeting with her father, in a way. A refrain with the same melody, but different lyrics.
A glimmer of the scene from moments before, from his point-of-view. A fond smile. Fingers carding through her hair. The stray musing that he was so lucky that she was all right; that he was so unbelievably lucky that he could do something to help.
…Throughout them all, an overwhelming sentiment permeated the images; one that the sacrifices had been well worth the reward.
This feeding session was, like the one before, quite short. Once she unlatched her teeth from his arm, Trish said nothing; while she was still crying, the timbre of her tears had changed to something more than mere guilt or sorrow; it mingled with relief, with gratitude.
"Once you have recovered yourself," Bruno finally said, the dhampir leaning on him and using his shoulder to steady herself, "We will find you a more substantial meal."
"I should like that," she said, her voice raw from her earlier emotional outburst. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
This effort was made quite a bit more difficult by how much she was still shaking. Bucciarati took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheek. "Until then, it is quite a lovely night. I would not be opposed to appreciating the stars; would you?"
While it took her a moment to shift from confusion to understanding what he was actually trying to say, it clicked; the girl flashed him a feeble smile. "Stargazing sounds wonderful."
"Good. After that, there was a hospital I passed by on my way here; I'm sure they wouldn't miss a few blood bags from their stock." A pause. He had to admit, he was starting to get a bit hungry, himself. "...Or a dozen.”
The two laughed at that.
Bruno went on: “The night is still young; it shouldn’t be more than an hour’s walk away. Are you able to walk now?”
She stood up. “Yes. Though, I request that we make this walk leisurely, if possible. I would prefer not to collapse again.”
Art by LadyWallace!
“Of course.” Then offering her his arm, she took it, crossing her own with his. Nestling closer to each other, the duo left the abandoned cabin and began onward with their eyes towards the heavens. Pointing out stars and waiting for the tempest within Trish's heart to pass, they inched closer and closer to the hospital.
Bruno and Trish, after an hour or so of walking, finally reached their destination. A small operation, in the middle of the countryside. Thankfully, it was also an hour’s walk to the safe house wherein the rest of the party was stationed. Oddly convenient, given the circumstances.
Trish managed to blow past the reception quite quickly without even having to use her powers of suggestion, but before they could do anything else, an orderly who smelled… different than the others in the room looked at them with an understanding in her eyes. An elderly woman, hair tied back into a messy bun, peeking out from her cap. She looked like someone’s grandmother.
“Oh, dearies. You are severely anemic. Please, follow me.”
While Bruno and Trish were suspicious, they did as they had been told. The woman took them into a room ostensibly used for blood drawing; at least, that was what the vampire and dhampir assumed, as it was so full of blood that they had to stop themselves from drooling.
Closing the door behind them, she rifled through the nearest ice box, then, instead of the expected iron pills, she handed them two blood bags. Since no one else was there, she smiled, flashing fangs of her own as her eyes glowed red.
“Don’t tell my coworkers, but I know a fang if I see one.” Then, with a wink, her eyes browned and teeth flattened once more. “My little bats, you are both quite the sight! I’m amazed that you walked this far without any trouble.” She nudged them into chairs before they could even protest. “Take the bags. You need to drink.”
“... Signora, you’re…?”
“A dhampir? Yes, just like you.” She nodded at Trish’s question. “Just call me Nonna Sangria, dear. And, you, passerotto, sit down. I don’t care if you’re full-fanged, unlike your daughter; you also need to rest.”
Trish and Bruno flashed each other a look at that comment. Even though they didn’t have the heart to correct the kindly woman, there was also something preventing them from thinking, that’s not true. Strange… Still, they could unpack whatever that mess of feelings meant later.
In the meantime, urged to drink, the two bloodsuckers did, and once they had their fill from the bag, strength restored and hunger satiated, she handed them a portable ice box. “You want to make it back before the sun wakes up, no?”
“We do,” Bruno replied. “ Signora… ”
“ Nonna Sangria, dear.”
Blushing: “ Nonna Sangria, thank you so much for your help. I will repay you for aiding us as soon as I am able.”
“It was no trouble.” The kindly dhampir smiled. “Just stay safe, and get home before the sun rises.”
Pushing them out like a parent shoving their child out the door to school early in the morning with a lunchbox, she waved the duo farewell. Trish and Bruno, strength restored, were on their way once more to the safe house.
As they walked, it was finally Trish who broke the silence: “...I must say, that was not what I was expecting.”
Bruno laughed. “No; however, it is quite refreshing to meet a fellow dhampir without being in absolute peril. Especially one so old. She’s lived a good life.” He stared at the path ahead of him, making sure not to fall. An unspoken comment hung on the air: Like I hope that you can.
More silence followed, but, punctuated by the noises of the night, at least it wasn’t unpleasant. It was an easy silence; the silence between kindred spirits.
Bruno spoke first this time, looking at the waxing moon. “...I am willing to bet that she could sense that we were turned by the same Vampire Lord; hence, her comments about us.” His tone, however, betrayed that he did not entirely believe this explanation himself.
Trish humored him, nodding as he trailed off, a wry sparkle in her emerald eyes. “Of course.”
The vampire did not want to admit that it moved him, that Sangria had been convinced they were kin. The dhampir, meanwhile, wouldn’t dare to speak aloud that she had wanted to cry, just thinking of the man beside her as family. Yes, she knew the team cared about her… However, it was one thing to know it, but wholly another to understand it.
After all, Nonna Sangria’s remark wasn’t wrong . Trish rushed beside Bruno and took his hand with her free hand. They didn’t have to say what they felt; based on the way he gripped her hand back, the feeling was clearly mutual. Bonded by the burden of her father’s curse, at least they had each other—and that made all the difference.