Chapter Text
The rain is pouring harder than it has in a long time. Bruno remembered the last day it had rained to the same extent. He was still a boy, living with his father and attending his chores, when the storm had kept his father and him inside. They made their fire and huddled with blankets around the warmth. Soon their peace was broken by the shutters of their home slamming against the windows, shattering the one close by the fire and extinguishing the flame.
Bruno remembers his fear then. Remembers his father fighting against the current and nailing those shutters shut. His father had braved the cold, the shower, and the threat of lightning and thundering gods above. To him, his father was the strongest man he had ever seen.
Even now, as Bruno splashes the undead skin of his face, he still believes that. Would his father think the same of him? Wonder how the man would feel if he knew his son was battling, not storms, but monsters. How would he feel if he learned his very son had become one?
Which one of them would brave such an interaction? Could Bruno do it? He doesn’t feel very brave. What does he even feel? Sometimes all he feels is that same ice seeping through the warmth like that night so long ago. Except this freezing is not in his skin, but in his heart.
Light laughter carries down the hall and stabs through the stale air of the resident bathing room.
Bruno flinches at the sound, jerking his head towards the door as fear grips his heart. For a moment he thought one of his companions was about to open the door and bear witness to his growing inner monologue. A flash of Trish played in his mind of her softly knocking and asking if he was alright. He would lie and placate her concern and push his- whatever it is he is feeling- aside before she could smell it on him.
But none of that happened. The laughter is just them making food in the kitchen. The smell would once have enticed him, but now it's not the same. For their sake, he’s happy they are cooking. Bonding. It’s what they need right now.
Bruno sighs and splashes another wave of cold water on his face, before scrubbing a towel down it. He looks out the window and at the storm raging in the dark.
The leaves of the window vines are straining at the weight, drooping in sadness. The wind shakes the windows, just like it once did, and tears away branches and leaves from the trees. Thunder cracks and roars while lightning flashes across the dreary landscape.
Perhaps the fresh air would be good for him? He feels like this air is choking him.
He can’t just go out there. He can already hear the others protesting and whining, and as much as he hates it, they are right.
Though he can’t feel the cold.
That isn’t the point, Bruno. Bruno can hear Trish scolding him in his head.
He can’t get sick.
That isn’t the point, Bruno.
It can’t hurt him.
That's not the point, Bruno .
“Help me.” A voice whispers on the wind. His head whips around towards the window. There shouldn’t be anyone out there, let alone close by, but Bruno is sure he heard a voice. Is there someone out there?
Bruno’s fingers reach for the latch of the window before his body registers his actions, and it shoves against him and slams on the wall. He groans and puts a hand up to block the force of the wind slapping his face so he can peak over the edge.
Nothing. No one. Who would be out there in a storm like this? Unless it was the undead.
Bruno sighs and forces the window shut, ignoring how it groans under the pressure. Now he has to wipe his face again.
“Help. Please.” His skin tingles and his spine shivers. That voice. Someone is calling for him, like a siren calling sailors to its desolate shores. To accept the spirit’s haunting call would mean death for lonely sailors in seas unkind to them. But this isn’t the sea, and this isn’t a siren.
“Bruno.” A knock at the door steadies him.
Bruno composes himself and fixes his hair and cravat. “Yes?”
“Are you all right in there?” Narancia inhaled. “Mista thought he heard a woman out in the storm. He won’t listen to Giorno when he says not to go out there.”
Bruno’s skin tickles again. So they heard it too?
He swings open the door to a startled Narancia. He casts a fleeting glance down at the boy before sweeping across the foyer to his coat by the front door. “Come, Mista.” Bruno shuffles the coat on and fixes the collar to cover his neck.
Mista grins and throws on his coat. “You heard it too?”
Bruno doesn’t acknowledge that with an answer, instead, he turns his attention to Giorno and Trish staring at them from the dining table. Bruno’s voice drowns out Giorno’s protests before they reach the surface. “Watch from the window. We will be back.”
“What if it’s a trap?” Giorno asks.
Mista shrugs and slaps the back of Bruno. “We can handle it. Can’t leave a girl out there begging for help, though.”
Bruno nods and tries his best not to let the strength of the door off balance him. The wind is fighting hard against everything in its path. Every step is weighed down by the pressure of it. Bruno squints and holds his hand up to cover most of his face, but the action is worthless. The rain still needles his face and clouds his vision, and one small hand does nothing against the wind whipping his hair around.
“Fuck!” Mista’s voice is barely heard over the cacophony. Thunder cracks then lightning flashes to illuminate the street. For a brief moment, Bruno sees the outline of something- or someone- down by the trees just ahead. He tries to squint to better make it out, but it's all a blur.
“Up there,” Bruno shouts and points in the direction he saw the figure. Mista nods and trudges on a foot back from Bruno.
The closer they get, the more Bruno can see the shadow has hair swirling wildly in the wind. Can see their coat smacking against the tree they are huddled under. Help me . That voice calls.
“I’m coming!” Bruno shouts, but the figure does not stir.
“Just hold on!” Mista follows.
They pick up the pace until they are both inches away from the young woman cradling her knees. With the noise, she didn’t notice them at first, but her swollen red eyes meet Bruno’s unnatural red ones, her wobbling lip parting to speak but nothing comes out but a squeak for help. The next second, her shivering form is falling over and if it weren’t for Bruno’s quick hand, her head would have smashed against the rocks.
Bruno swiftly picks her up, noting how light she is in his arms, and runs back to the house. He kicks open the doorway, uncaring of it nearly flying off its hinges, and gently sets the woman down on the sofa. Her head falls to the side and a strand of her black hair glues itself to the side of her cheek, covering her face from his view.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” Mista grumbles as he helps Giorno and Narancia slam the door shut.
Bruno reaches out and brushes the hair behind the woman’s ear. Her skin is soft and pale like porcelain. Her lips and brows are full and perfectly carved. She’s freezing and shivering violently it’s no wonder she passed out.
Bruno rips off his coat, hovers it over her figure then notes it's dripping onto the floor. Probably not a good idea . Instead, Bruno throws it to the side and orders the others to grab blankets and sheets. Warm water and anything to get the woman back to temperature.
The fire is already blazing, but Narancia adds some more kindling to make it spark and whistle. The sofa screeches as it slides over closer to its warmth. The fire will be the best way to warm her up, but her dress is probably heavy and wet. If he could take it off-
His hand trembles above the bust of her corset. What in the Hell am I thinking?
Bruno quickly tucks his hand under his leg and if he could blush, he’s sure he would be as bright as a tomato.
“I brought all the extra blankets we had.” Trish lays one on the woman without a second thought.
Giorno comes around them and kneels to inspect the woman for wounds. “She seems to be okay. Her breathing is stable. Probably just exhausted and cold, but should be okay.”
“She’s really pretty.” Narancia, who’s resting his chin on his palm on the edge of the sofa, gains everyone’s blank stares. He immediately clears his throat, shuffling awkwardly away as he stutters off excuses. They all watch him slip into the shadows of the hallway before turning their gaze back to each other, and then to the woman.
She is beautiful . The sound of her heart plays a sinful melody in his ears.
“Let her rest, Bruno.” Trish’s hand relaxes the tension in Bruno’s body.
He forces on a smile. “Of course. Keep an eye on her.”
“We’ll save her some of the food we made too.” Giorno and Mista nod in agreement.
Something about her compels him to stay. To reach out and hold her hand. To put his nose to her neck as if she were a tantalising nightshade and inhale her sweet toxins. Was this the vampire in him? The monster wishing to drain her? Or was this him, having been drowning deeper and deeper into the depths of darkness that he has now become so easily swayed by the barest hints of light?
He braved the storm and found a creature who needed him. Much like his father protected him when he was just a boy needing his father. Perhaps not all is lost then if he still can do something simple- something good.
“What is with all the noise?” Leone’s voice booms as loud as the thunder outside as he emerges from his slumber.
Bruno pays his friend no mind and brings the blanket closer to the woman’s chin. Sleep.