Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Haruno became aware of was the warmth of another person. The second thing she noticed was the heavy jostling and bouncing she was being subjected to. The third thing that became clear to Haruno was the heavy weight of their own head and limbs. Haruno was totally unable to move of her own accord. The corridor she was being carried down was pale white, cold industrial lighting sterilising the building further. 

Haruno’s vision swam and suddenly she was no longer in that heavily sanitised corridor. Now she was splayed on a wooden table in a white office. Shadows were rushing around her, one shadow distinctly inhuman in form… and then she was asleep again. Haruno had probably lost too much blood to care about her situation. That sounded about right.

The next time Haruno woke up, she was finally conscious. Rather than being in an office like she remembered, she was in the medical ward. The room was empty, save for Ungalo and herself, though that was nothing new. Her team was not allowed near the vulnerable, one of the strict rules they had to abide by lest they face the consequences. Her oil black hair was tied high and out of the way, and the three gaping bullet wounds that were once in her abdomen had been filled out and healed, likely thanks to Foo Fighters. Haruno sat up slowly, grunting at the stiffness that lingered in her joints. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Ungalo said simply, not turning to look at her. His shoulders were huddled high, popped collar obscuring the lower half of his face.  Instead of looking at Haruno, Ungalo chose to stay curled up on his chair reading his comic. This one was hard back. He must have really splashed out on this one. Haruno noticed their two swords leaning against the wall by the entrance.

“What happened?” Haruno asked instead, wrestling the tubes out of her body, then wrestling her body loose from the blankets. She found a clean Speedwagon uniform waiting for her on the food of the bed and disappeared behind a curtain for some privacy.

“You got shot like, four times.” three, but Haruno wasn’t going to correct him. “Ricky lost his shit,left the blokes like ice cubes, we all headed back here but we were early and you know how that always goes.” Haruno could hear the huff in Ungalo’s voice. “Didn’t have clearance to access the medical ward yet and Ricky did what Ricky does best and lost his shit again. ” 

“We need to get that guy a stress ball.” Haruno sighed, emerging from behind the curtain in her uniform. She rolled the sleeves up three quarters and left the two top buttons of her Speedwagon branded shirt undone, the way she always did. 

“Yeah, I mean, imagine freaking out ‘cus your sister was bleeding out all down your back while you drag her from certain death. Totally irrational.” Ungalo’s tone of voice left far too much up for interpretation, sarcasm totally void, so Haruno didn’t answer. It would be useless, the comment was clearly made to be a dig at both Haruno and Donatello. Haruno pulled her hair out of the ponytail it was being kept up in. 

“Where’s my ID?” she asked, routing through the bedside desk and looking under the pillow. 

“Hung it on your Anubis.” Ungalo said, “ maybe if you opened your fucking eyes you’d have noticed .” he added under his breath, hunching his shoulders in a weak attempt to recentre his focus on his comic. Haruno did her best to not roll her eyes. Her brother could be such a jackass when his precious comic reading was interrupted. She knew she shouldn’t keep asking him questions. It would be best for them both if she simply left the room and asked another member of the foundation.

“Where's Donatello and Rikiel?” Finally fed up of having his reading interrupted, Ungalo tensed up, thumbs pushing the pages into creasing before he forced the pages together with such force Haruno wouldn’t have been surprised if the pages had fused together from the action. He’d absolutely be regretting that later. The book gave a satisfying snap as it was closed and tucked away under Ungalo’s arm.

“Like fuck if i know!” Ungalo snapped, “Polnareff swung by, saw you were down and dragged them off. Apparently we have a job coming up soon and the meeting couldnt be put off. He saddled my ass here to babysit you ‘ cus apparently you can’t go one fucking mission without being totally god damn useless!” that caused Haruno to bristle at least. 

“Like you know anything about what happens on the field,” Haruno said with a pointed glare, snatching up her Anubis and ID. “you’re just the tech guy .” 

“You take that back!”

“You take back calling me useless first!” Haruno snapped back.

“I cant take it back cus it’s the truth!”

“Then I guess we’re in the same boat!” Haruno and Ungalo were snarling at each other as the door creaked open slowly. 

“Jeez, you two,” Foo Fighters spoke in a disappointed tone, “Haruno you just got up, do you have to go about antagonising your brother like that?” it asked before turning its alien head towards Ungalo, “and you! Couldn’t you at least act relieved that Haruno is up so soon? – you’re welcome for that, by the way.” the stand turned back to Haruno with a cheeky grin. It skated into the room easily, stopping happily between the siblings. 

“F.F. Thank you.” Haruno acknowledged, giving the stand a polite nod, “where are Donatello and Rikiel? Ungalo said they’re with Polnareff?” she asked, fastening the sword to her hip. “Why is Polnareff here? I thought he was supposed to be in Italy?”

“Well, his trip to Italy is part of why he’s back.” Foo Fighters said, causing Ungalo to perk up. 

“Our new mission is in Italy?” he asked, causing Haruno to raise an eyebrow. 

“Diabolik was originally published over there.” Ungalo explained, “it's a dark comic about a criminal that steals from other criminals. It’s cool as hell and I haven't found any copies of it over here. Do you think I could find it over there?” 

“I don’t care about your geek stuff, Ungalo.” Haruno deadpanned before caving into her guilt for dismissing him, only enough to acknowledge “besides, you’ll have to learn Italian to read the comics you buy over there.” Haruno turned back to Foo Fighters, “the meeting they’re in. why aren’t we invited?”

“Probably because you were busy dying?” Foo Fighters answered, “and someone needed to stay back and make sure you didn’t flatline.”

“Don’t see why it had to be me,” Ungalo huffed. “It’s always me on babysitting duty.”

“Don’t take it personally, Ungalo.” Foo Fighters sighed, “it’s just that Rikiel and Donatello are…” not liabilities in combat. Capable of controlling their stands. Skilled with great mental fortitude. Honestly, Haruno had many answers to follow up the Stand’s pep talk, though none of Haruno’s were very peppy.

The stand faltered for a second, not wanting to pull the pin on Ungalo’s inferiority complex again. “Foot men!” it said suddenly, jumping when it got the idea. “Ungalo, you are the brains of the operation, but these three have to be filled in more than you because they’re foot men. Joeys. Sidekicks. Bottom-of-the-barrel type of guys, you get me? They do the leg work because your brains are too valuable to lose!” Ungalo didn’t seem to believe it, but he didn’t continue to argue against the stand either. 

Haruno tried her best not to bristle at being called bottom of the barrel, though her hackles were equally raised. Sensing the awkward tension, Foo Fighters quickly picked up the energy again.

“Anyway! Since you’re both up and at ‘em, I'm supposed to take you to visit Polnareff! You’re gonna be going on another mission, isn't that exciting!” the siblings funnelled out of the room unenthusiastically.

“Yay, another near death experience.” Ungalo snarked. 

“You said it, not me.” Haruno agreed. 

“Oh, come on, guys!” Foo Fighters whined, closing the door behind them. “You haven’t died yet, right?” The duo remained silent. “Guys?” the stand asked, chasing after the duo desperately. 

“It’s lovely to see you all again!” Polnareff’s tone was happy but the four teenagers weren’t stupid. That smile had never once reached his eyes, the Frenchman's kindness and joy had been insincere from the day they met. Haruno never understood what she and her siblings had done to deserve such cold regard. It took Haruno meeting Foo Fighters to realise that there was no reason for the siblings to be treated this way. The four were considered others, outsiders, and thus less deserving of everyone else. Knowing that as fact hadn’t made it easier for her to accept, but she did so anyway. The world wouldn’t wait for her, after all. 

The siblings left the man’s greeting to hang awkwardly in the air, waiting for him to get straight to the point. 

Polnareff coughed. 

“Well, as i’m sure you were aware, I was in Italy only a short few days ago.” Polnareff explained. “I have been tasked with finding a man.”

“A man?” Ungalo asked.

“How horrifying,” Rikiel spoke dryly, not even attempting to hide that he was rolling his eyes. “How ever have you survived, sir?” The brothers both had to bite their lips together to stop themselves from busting into giggles. 

“Barely.” Polnareff spoke in a severe tone. The man rounded his desk, revealing that he was wholly missing a leg . “The answer to your smartass question, Rikiel, is that I barely survived.”

“Holy shit!” Ungalo choked.

“Sir!” Donatello exclaimed, looking at Polnareff’s injury in shock. 

“This is why we’re being sent to Italy?” Haruno asked, causing Polnareff to blink at her. 

“How did you…”

“Foo Fighters told me.” she answered simply. 

“That gossipy bottom-feeding hoard of shit.” Polnareff huffed. “That’s- yes. This is why you’re going to Italy. Tomorrow morning at Eight AM you will have an appointment with Mr. Kishibe. He will give you new names, along with fluency in the italian language. Your identities will be of strangers. You will reside separately-”

“What!” Ungalo’s eyes practically bulged out of his head.

“No way!” Rikiel scoffed.

“ You will reside separately. “ Polnareff repeated harshly, “You will carry two phones. You will each find your own path into Passione and you will communicate only when absolutely necessary.” 

“You expect us to do that on our own!” Rikiel scoffed, “like hell!”

“What the hell is a Passione?” Ungalo asked Rikiel, and Haruno turned to Donatello, silently asking the same question. 

“Passione is the largest Mafia in Italy. Consider them an evil, omnipresent version of The Speedwagon Foundation.” Rikiel scoffed at that but didn’t speak. Haruno wished her brother would have a better poker face. Donatello had not once looked away from the desk chair, keeping his face remarkably neutral and posture completely unassuming yet firm. He really did make a remarkable leader of their team. “Mr. Polnareff, while I'm certain my siblings and I would be safer on the whole if we were to remain separate and find our own ways into Passione, I'm afraid that I too have to object to residing away from my family.” Haruno felt her eyebrows raise as she turned to look at Donatello. 

Donatello was their strictest sibling. Unlike Haruno, who intentionally wore her uniform informally as an act of rebellion or Rikiel who only adhered to the Foundation’s colour scheme or Ungalo, who had personalised every aspect of his uniform, Donatello had always done exactly as he was told, when he was told it. His uniform was never creased, never worn wrong or personalised, his ID tag was always clear as day, his hands were always cupped unassumingly behind his back, he never spoke out of turn and he never said no to a given order. 

“We will enter the country separately, but our lodgings will be the same. This will be our first mission longer than a singular week. Beyond that there are too many new aspects that would require our skills as a team, rather than individuals. To separate us would be to set us up to fail.” Donatello spoke in such a strong and unwavering tone, Haruno almost forgot he was only fourteen. The same as her. “It would be a death sentence and I refuse to accept that.” Haruno knew she wasn’t the only one shocked by Donatello’s behaviour when she turned and saw Rikiel and Ungalo stare at their brother as though he had grown two heads. 

“Donatello,” Polnareff began slowly, “I don't think you understand what you’re saying. If you all remain together, it is more than likely that when-” when? “One of you gets found out, they will not stop at killing one of you. It will be all four of you.” Polnareff looked to each of the four individually before turning back to directly address Donatello. “Keeping you apart is to ensure not only your success, but the likelihood of a return.”

“If one of my brothers died in Italy, I would want to die there too.” Haruno said simply, moving to stand right beside Donatello. She moved as subtly as she could to hold onto Donatello’s hand and offer him silent support. 

Donatello yanked his hand away as though he had been burned. He grimaced as though Haruno was the personification of rot. 

“If one of us is likely to die…” Rikiel paused, looking at his three siblings before closing in and grabbing Haruno by the shoulders. “Then I'm sorry but you can’t just ask me to spend my final moments away from them. We’re a team.”

“We’re family.” Haruno corrected. 

Ungalo watched his three siblings in their display of camaraderie before flinging himself into them all, shoving the three harshly to the left. 

“Ungalo!” Donatello chastised.

“Man! What the hell!”

“If this is gonna be a whole sad sappy thing, can I at least be on the field this time? I don’t wanna die from looking at some rando’s emails! I’d rather die doing something cooler!” Ungalo whined. 

“If one of us was gonna die, it would be you, wouldn't it?” Rikiel asked teasingly, “can you even handle being on the field?” Rikiel tilted his head to look down at Ungalo’s Anubis. “With that short sword?”

“Hey! It might be shorter than the rest of yours but I'm still good at using it!” 

Rikiel let out a horrendous noise that landed somewhere between a screech and a snort. 

“Everybody calm down.” Polnareff sighed exasperated from their antics. “We can’t just send you all into a death sentence-”

“But you can send maybe one or two of us?” Rikiel asked, scrunching his face up to highlight how stupid it sounded. 

“Mr. Polnareff…” Haruno tried to keep her expression schooled. It was what Donatello did, after all. “If you had a sibling you thought was going to die and there was nothing you could do about it, could you really stand by and let them go?” Haruno held Polnareff’s gaze, even as it went from pitying and sad to blank and horrified. For the first time since meeting him, Haruno felt as though she was looking at a real man rather than a front. 

“You have roughly thirteen hours to compose your new names.” Polnareff dismissed. “Your new names, new identities, whatever you like as long as Mr. Kishibe approves.” The mention of Rohan Kishibe put a damper on any sort of familial love that was held in the room. That man freaked all of the team out to high hell, Haruno was certain that he was a social experiment before he was a man. “Go… craft your alter egos or something. I’ll forward the change to Crofter.” Polnareff held his head in his hand. 

The Brando children did not hesitate to evacuate the room. 

“Hey, Donatello,” Haruno said once the door was closed and the siblings were afforded their most private moment (an empty hallway that anyone could enter at any time) “why did you…” Haruno didn’t know how to phrase her question, though it seemed she didn’t have to. Donatello, as always, seemed able to read her mind. 

“You almost died today.” Donatello was still looking at the sterile white door they had just left from. He couldn't bring himself to look at Haruno. “You almost died to injuries that weren’t yours to take .” the accusation sat heavy in Haruno’s chest.

“My stand can-”

“You can’t even summon a full manifestation of your stand!” Donatello snapped, “you can make flowers!”

“My flowers can-”

“But they didn’t!” Donatello cut Haruno off, turning to face her with anger on his lips and fear in his eyes. “Your stand ability is remarkable, Haruno, but what good is it if you still take damage?”

“The bullets missed the flowers- it wasn't my fault-” Haruno fumbled over herself, gripping the hem of her skirt and fidgeting nervously. Donatello had never gotten mad at one of them before.

“It doesn't matter who’s fault it is or was.” Donatello sighed, his anger subsiding. “You almost died protecting me with a stand you’re not even entirely in control of.” Donatello took a deep breath. “You're benched from combat.” he said suddenly.

“What?” Haruno had to double take. She was benched? 

“You’re not fighting. In Italy your only job is for information. You will not engage in any form of combat. You will find information, you will give it to the team and you will-”

“I’m not playing honeypot!” Haruno snapped. Donatello raised his hands.

“Too young to play honeypot.” Ungalo muttered to Rikiel, who shrugged. 

“It’s like. Catholic capital of the world, I dunno if Catholics even know what ‘too young’ even means.” Rikiel muttered back quickly, going quiet to watch the team's most quiet and serious hash it out.

“Quite frankly I don't care how you do it, Haruno. But what you did today-”

“I saved your life!”

“And you almost died for it!” Donatello snapped. “Do you think I want to see anyone here die? Do you, Haruno?” He asked, leaning down into her space. “I don’t. But guess what? Everybody else here does. ” Haruno felt like the air had been punched free of her lungs. She knew it was true, factually, but none of the siblings had ever acknowledged it out loud. The pit that opened up in her stomach was almost suffocating. 

“That's what this is about. They want us dead. They want to be rid of us. We’re all lucky that we arent collared up like fucking Ungalo.” said brother pulled his shirt collar higher, once again trying to hide his accessory. “I will do my best to protect you- all of you- i always have,” Donatello sighed, “But… that requires you also doing your best to take care of yourselves.” Haruno was pushed aside as Donatello addressed all three of them. 

“Where is this coming from?” Haruno asked, looking between her three brothers. None of them answered, but they all shared the same guilty, sad expression. “Guys, someone clue me in, please .” 

“They wouldn’t let us in the medical ward.” Rikiel said as though that explained anything. When Rikiel caught her confused expression he clarified, “you were cold, Haru. like- blue cold. And they wouldn’t let us in. they wouldn't even take you.” Haruno stared blankly at them. 

“They were ready to let you die.” Donatello kept his back to the siblings, trying his hardest to now show his weakness so blatantly. “You have given your every breath for this shithole and they were ready to let you die.”

“They’re scared-” Haruno’s defence was cut short.

“No, they aren't!” Rikiel argued. “They were scared. Of our dad- that vampire freak we never met? They were scared of him. And now they hate us. Just because we were born.” Ungalo brought his hardback comic up to his face, his eyes shifted to the ground. 

“You probably have hope ‘cus someone loved you once, Haruno,” Ungalo said softly, and Haruno froze up at the reminder. She had truly thought they forgot.  “but… your mother isn't here anymore. She went missing and we only have each other.”

“Not even that if one of us decides to die.” Rikiel added. 

“And you almost threw your life away for me.” Donatello sighed. “It wasn’t fair. None of this is fair and-...” he trailed off. “If the fight in Italy gets bad, we have to promise each other that we won't try to play hero, okay?” Donatello asked, looking between his brothers and sister. “If one of us dies we have to promise here and now, we’ll fuck off and live long happy lives. No vengeance, no martyring ourselves- none of it. We aren't taking bullets for each other and we sure as hell aren't wasting our lives on revenge.” 

“Okay, but what if the bullet is going to give me epic god powers? I can take that bullet for you guys, right?”

“If you want to be god, Ungalo, you go ahead and do that.” Donatello relented. “But can you all promise me that much? Please?” it was an unfair thing to ask the team. They had been raised together, they spent their whole lives fighting together. They shared every moment together, to ask the others to carry on without them was insane. Still, they all agreed, all foolishly believing that if any of them were going to die it would be them because they simply wouldn’t let the world take their siblings. 

“You’re still benched, Haruno.”

“God damn it.”

The morning came far too soon for the siblings. Haruno was ready and dressed by half seven, Rikiel had at least gotten his shirt on by that time, and Ungalo had only gotten up and ready five minutes before the appointment itself. Donatello had gotten dressed before any of the others had even woken up. By the time everyone was dressed and ready, Ungalo had already picked out a comic to bring along with him for the day.

“Isn’t that the same one you were reading yesterday?” 

“Yeah, but Anubis likes this one. It’s nice to have someone- something- interested in the things I like.”

“Oh my god, you really do talk to your sword.” Haruno scrunched her face up in distaste. “I thought Rikiel just made that up.”

“Ricky! What the hell!” Ungalo snapped.

“I’m sorry, but for what it’s worth, it’s incredibly sad that you talk to your sword.”

“I don't think I've ever even heard my sword speak.” Donatello sighed, looking down to his own blade. 

Each Anubis blade held by a sibling was different in length. Ungalo’s was the shortest, being barely the length of his forearm, honestly it was a glorified knife more than anything. Rikiel’s sword was the next in length, long enough to reach just below his knee. Donatello’s blade followed after that, though only by an inch or so. 

Haruno’s own blade stood out, reaching from her hip to her ankle, even at the angle it rested at. 

“Polnareff told us that our blades were the measure of our mental fortitude, right?” Haruno asked Donatello, who only shrugged as Rikiel and Ungalo roughed it out in the background. 

“Good morning, Brandos!” Foo Fighters cheered as they opened the door. “Who’s ready for their mission to start!” how the stand had so much energy at all times, Haruno desperately wanted to know.

“Foo Fighters, good morning.” Donatello greeted as the stand filled out their morning routine checklist. 

“Mornin’ to you too, Donny.” Donatello visibly cringed at the nickname but didn’t argue against it being used. “Right! The list is filled out, let's go! Before Kishibe loses his mind at my punctuality again.” 

The pristine white corridors of their home facility were in drastic opposition to the inky black out of the windows. Being January, it was still so dark outside. Haruno thought there was something so very pretty about how the bright indoors contrasted the dark outside. Perhaps it was something poetic? She wasn’t much of an artist, so she wouldn't have known. 

“Hey, Foo Fighter,” Haruno began, “I've been meaning to ask about our blades.” Haruno paused, waiting to see if this line of questioning was off limits for her.

“What do you wanna know about them?” the stand asked in return.

“Well, we know that these are made with the metal of a… Stand Sword . And we know they supposedly improve our fighting skills… but how?” she asked. 

“Hmm,” Foo Fighter paused, tapping its chin, “well, the sword that had the metal that makes all your swords was known for never losing.” Foo Fighter explained, “I mean, it lost a lot, but it learned fast. The Stand inside the sword, that is.” Foo fighter pointed down to Haruno’s own Anubis. “Once upon a time that bad boy could mind control people into doing its bidding. Obviously, with how many pieces it's in, it won't be doing that again anytime soon, but that’s the long and short of it all.” 

“So then why are our weapons all different lengths?” Rikiel asked.

“Something about resilience?” Foo Fighters explained, though it seemed the stand itself didn't exactly know what they were explaining. “The shorter swords have less metal in them, they screw with your head less. The length of the sword is entirely based on how much of the sword you need to get the talent without the mind control aspect.” 

“So we have swords that make us super badass fighters with little training, but can mind control us if we aren't careful.” Ungalo thought out loud. 

“Well, no. The swords you have are tailored to be completely safe for you to handle-” Foo Fighters explanation was cut off by Ungalo’s wide grin as he inspected his sword.

“That’d make a badass concept for a sword user in a comic, right? I should write that!” Ungalo returned his sword to its sheethe, turning to Rikiel with his excited smile. Rikiel only shook his head as they approached the office. 

Rohan Kishibe was, to put it as gently as possible, the absolute bane of Haruno’s existence. As though the man’s ability to write rules into people wasn't bad enough, he also seemed to entirely lack a sense of boundaries or privacy, always flipping through her pages and reading her most private and secret thoughts as though he was entitled to them. 

“I truly don't understand how you can envy someone for being born a gender.” Mr Kishibe sighed, shuffling boredly through Harunos pages to find a blank space. “Here we are.” the man said, grabbing his pen and beginning to write. 

‘I know fluent Italian’ ‘While in the country of Italy I will respond only to the name of Giorno Giovanna. My memory of being called Haruno Brando will not exist while I stand on Italian soil.’ ‘my internal compass of italian streets and city layouts is perfect and i have the cities memorised after only a single lap of them.’ 

“Could you have come up with a more fake sounding name?” Mr. Kishibe asked. Haruno simply shrugged her shoulders, not ever enjoying talking to the man. He knew more about her than anybody in the world ever had a right to. 

“Better than your siblings, I suppose. They only changed their last names. Thank god there's no record of you formally existing, I could see that getting messy otherwise.” Mr. Kishibe closed her book and let her sit up. “You’re good to go.” he dismissed. Haruno wasted no time in fleeing to the safety of anywhere but near Rohan Kishibe.

 Safety anywhere but near Rohan ended up being with a new Speedwagon intern called Koichi Hirose. He was going to be Haruno’s overseer for her flight into Italy. She was to be arriving by plane from the UK, Donatello would be using trains and buses, meanwhile Rikiel and Ungalo were both to arrive via boat. Haruno tried to temper the petulant voice in her head that kicked and screamed about how unfair it was that those two got to stick together. 

“How’s your internship been going?” Koichi asked after a long stretch of silence. Haruno glared down at him with cold eyes. Call her petty, but knowing what she now knew- that they were going to let her die- she didn’t care to affiliate or fraternise with whatever babysitter they sent her way. “Mine’s been pretty fun!” Koichi continued awkwardly, “though it does put a damper on things when you think about how much being a stand user really limits you in terms of occupation.” Haruno closed her eyes and took a breath through her nose. 

“I don’t care. Do not talk to me.” she said. “You’re only here to accompany me into the country. After that we go our separate ways for your safety.”

“I get that but…” Koichi looked down to his lap. “Aren't you scared? From the little bits i’ve learned about the job you’ll be doing, it sounds horrible-”

“Thanks for reminding me.” she said dryly. “Please be quiet now.” 

The plane landing went smoothly and Giorno stepped out with her suitcase. Due to this being an infiltration mission, she was allowed to personalise her outfit. She chose to keep her outfit blue, unsure of what other colours would look good on her. She chose a navy blue, form fitting with matching pants. Her shoes were wine red and heeled. Meanwhile her luggage back was a bubblegum pink ( “i thought thats a girls favourite colour!” Foo Fighters cried out, looking at how it clashed with Giorno’s outfit. ) but all in all, Giorno did not hate her outfit. Now, all she had to do was find her brothers, settle into their new abode and begin their hunt for the spectral Don Of Passione. Easy as pie, Giorno and her brothers had this in the bag. They hadn’t failed before and they wouldn’t fail now. 

Giorno pulled out her phone as she began walking towards the city. 

‘ Landed. Going home ’ was typed out in perfect Italian. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. It couldnt be if she got to learn a whole new language, right?

Chapter Text

Donatello was the Leader of their team and that came with responsibilities that the other three would never have to shoulder. He wasn't allowed to mess around like they were. His uniform, his attitude, his response time it all had to be perfect. In essence, he believed himself to be the face and mascot of Team Brando. He had to represent the best of them because if he didn’t they would surely be seen as useless. Haruno– Girono had yet to fully awaken her stand despite being able to passively use it since she was found and Ungalo wasn’t allowed to use his stand, which meant that a pure half of their team were not combat ready. Donatello was certain if he didn’t prove them both to be useful they’d have been silently executed. It was Donatello’s only reason to permit Giorno to fight at all, and now, here he was, forbidding her from the only thing that made her useful to The Speedwagon Foundation.

Ungalo survived by being useful with intel. Giorno survived by proving herself to be efficient in combat, and now that she was benched– no. Now that Donatello was too scared to let her get hurt again, he found himself at an impasse. If he kept her benched, the foundation would retaliate, likely by killing her. If she was permitted to fight without a stand she would also likely die. No matter which option he chose, Giorno would die.

“This is not fair at all!”  

Yukako huffed loudly, “my darling Koichi is so far away and I’m stuck here on this lousy train.” 

Donatello tossed the papers onto the small table in front of him. As expected, there was no name or appearance for the Don of Passione. There wasn’t even a suspected persons list. It was as if the Don didn’t exist. Obviously he did, but it just seemed as if he didn’t. The members of Passione were getting their orders from somewhere and Team Brando’s job was to find out as much as possible and report back to Polnareff and Speedwagon. Donatello looked out of the train window to think. If he blindly followed the Foundation’s rules, his siblings were going to die. If he blatantly disowned the Foundation and spoke out against them, he was going to die. 

“I don’t even get why Koichi wanted to do this stupid internship or even why he invited me if he wasn’t going to be around for it.”

The Don certainly had a stand, but what was it? Donatello’s current theory was that the Don’s stand somehow affected one's memories. It was impossible to be this invisible- especially to control a mafia whose power was rivalling Speedwagon- without letting your face or name slip once. Perhaps his stand could project his will onto people? And perhaps that was contagious? It was the only way to explain how so many people followed a nameless, faceless man without question. This whole situation was getting worse and worse the more he thought about it.

“I bet it was Kishibe’s doing, that smug jack off!”

Many names had caught Donatello’s eye while he was reviewing his briefing. The Narcotics Division of Passione seemed to be the Don's favourite, and from just their monetary impact on Passione alone, Donatello could tell why. They, unlike many of the other teams, had been approached by the boss over email directly with few roundabout schemes or middle men to jump through. They would be a good line of contact, a strong place to bury roots and gain information.

  Angelica Attanasio . A girl the same age as Giorno. Maybe Giorno could befriend her? Donatello quickly dismissed that thought. A girl their age working on the Narcotics team only smelt of trouble. She could rope Giorno into partaking in a plethora of horrible substances and Donatello refused to have that on his head. 

Donatello dismissed the idea in its entirety. If the Don was contacting this team directly, it meant that they had more of his paranoid trust than the other teams, he’d be an enemy by virtue of being new. Donatello’s eyes fell on the page again. 

“He’s always meddling where he isn’t wanted.”

Donatello then settled for extending a branch to La Squadra Esecuzioni. Their team seemed to have been riddled with conflicts against the Don ranging from their income to their living situation to even their respect as a team in Passione. If it was money they were riled up over, that was good. That meant their loyalty could be bought. Donatello stacked his papers together again, before correcting the collar on his plain white shirt. A plan began to form in Donatello’s mind. He would topple Passione and claim the organisation for himself. Sat atop that empire, it was unlikely that the Speedwagon Foundation would move to wrestle the siblings back under their control. Donatello had always hoped that one day he and his siblings would be recognised as the people they were, rather than the shadows of the man that spawned them. With that hope dead in the water, Donatello settled for his dream, instead. 

He and his siblings would know that freedom and they would never live under another thumb again. It was tangible now. All he had to do was put it into motion and keep the others out of it. Only Donatello alone would know of his plan. The others would not be burdened with the weight of treachery on their shoulders, he’d make sure of it. Ungalo and Rikiel especially wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“One day we better be riding to work in a sports car.” Ungalo huffed, leaning over the boat to look down at the waves. Ungalo had traded out his boring uniform for an orange long sleeve top and green jeans. He wore a purple beanie and black trainers and all in all? He felt pretty cool. He even got to choose the colour of his replacement band. It was black, of course, to hopefully go with anything he decided to wear while on this mission.

“One day, you better learn how to coordinate an outfit.” Rikiel snickered, leaning beside Ungalo boredly. Rikiel placed his Anubis between them, resting his longer sword besides Ungalo’s short sword. Honestly, it was embarrassing how Ungalo quite literally always got the short end of everything.

“We’re probably gonna be the last ones there.” Ungalo whined, “it’s not fair, why do i always draw the short straw?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Rikiel sneered.

“Psh. Please,” Ungalo snorted, “we all know the only reason you get a travel buddy and the others don’t is because you’re the most anxious person alive.” Ungalo shrugged, “that’s fine, that’s whatever, but why am I always put on babysitting duty? It isn’t fair.” Rikiel rolled his eyes.

“Dude, just get back to reading your comic or something.” Ungalo sat down against the side of the boat and opened his comic. But it wasn't because Rikiel told him too! 

“Geez, they are an anti-social duo, huh?” Josuke was leaning against the door to the cabin with Okayasu, arms crossed and miserable pout on his face. It wasn’t fair that Josuke got saddled with the sea breeze. He had hair to maintain! “I know they’re brothers but they look like they hate each other.”

“Nah,” Okayasu dismissed Josuke with a wave of his hand. “Siblings are just like that. My big bro would always say the most rude shit you could imagine, but it was fine ‘cus that's my bro, you know?”

Josuke blinked, “no,” he answered. “Not in the slightest.” 

“Well it’s like,” Okayasu paused, rubbing his chin, thinking how to phrase himself properly. “Imagine there was someone in the world that you did everything with. And then take that person and keep them by your side for years. You use the same plates, sit on the same couch, crap in the same toilet- you are literally never rid of them, but they aren’t some authority figure like a parent. It’s just another you to make a bunch of other mistakes with.” Okayasu shrugged, “it’s someone you know inside and out. The cruelty comes with trust in it. Honestly, for as far as jibes and banter go for siblings? this is pretty tame.”

“Jesus christ!” Rikiel snapped, dry, bitter laughter interrupting the friend’s conversation. “If only your brain were as sharp as your fucking tongue.” 

“Doesn’t sound like whatever he said then was ‘pretty tame’.” Josuke sighed.

“Come on man!” Ungalo cried, currently kneeling at Rikiel’s feet, “just get me out of this awful job, will you! I don't wanna be the man in the chair this time! It's bullshit and you know it!” 

“You hate it that much do you?” Rikiel asked innocently as Ungalo got to his feet, holding the hardback comic to his chest.

“Obviously!” Ungalo snapped, “I want a cooler job!” 

Rikiel picked up his Anubis then, holding it out to his brother. “Then, wanna trade places?” 

Ungalo stared at the offered blade for a moment, hand reaching out, just close enough to almost touch it. Then Ungalo backed away, drawing both hands to wrap around the comic at his chest again. There was a strict rule against the siblings swapping, trading or even touching the others swords. Something about each blade being perfectly tailored to the sibling. Put shortly; Ungalo knew better than to take Rikiel’s sword. The consequences would likely be dire.

Ungalo averted his eyes, “I'm not so pathetic as to take something that doesn’t belong to me.” Ungalo huffed, closing his eyes tightly. Before Rikiel had the chance to retract the sword however, Ungalo lunged for it, discarding his coming in the air before snatching the sheath. “That’s what you thought i’d say, right?-- wait this is heavy–!” 

The next few seconds passed by in a blurr. Ungalo fell unceremoniously on his ass. The sword had flung free of the sheath and in that same moment, the hardback he had flung into the air came sailing down and landed flat on his face. 

“Ungalo!” Rikiel screeched, watching as the Anubis came sailing down towards Ungalo’s face. 

“Josuke!” Okayasu called, watching his friend rush in to aid Ungalo. He wasn't fast enough, though, and the sword speared itself into the hardback comic that had landed on Ungalo’s head. There was a beat of silence as the book and sword both slid from Ungalo’s face, clattering to the ground beside him. Ungalo, to give him credit, did not seem too shaken up. 

“Thank christ!” Josuke sighed, slowing down his pace to pick up Ungalo’s comic. 

“Hey, Ricky,” Ungalo asked, turning to look at Rikiel, “you were hoping it’d hit me, weren’t you.” Ungalo’s face remained completely neutral even as Rikiel couldn't help the smirk that pulled at his lips. 

“Guilty.” Rikiel admitted casually, and Josuke decided then that he would never understand siblings. 

“Uh, here,” Josuke offered the comic back to Ungalo. “I had my stand fix it up for you so now you won't have to read around the- uh… sword hole.” Josuke laughed lightly, watching as Ungalo inspected the pages intensely. Rikiel, too, was staring at Josuke with just as much intensity.

“It’s as good as new.” Ungalo admitted, getting up from off the floor to flip through the pages, offering Josuke a quiet, “thanks.” without any eye contact or real evidence for grateful behaviour. 

“So…” Okayasu looked at the other three. “Anyone want to play some Uno?” he asked, pulling out the deck of cards and looking between everyone. 

Somehow, Rikiel won every game they played.

Giorno had found their lodgings easily with the help of Mr. Kishibe’s alterations to her character. It was a small bungalow, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and one main room and kitchenette. There were no appliances and no furniture besides three beds in one room and a small cot in the other. The walls were hammered in, cracks in the plaster to reveal exposed brick with graffiti decorating the few flat plains of wall that still existed. The windows were cracked but luckily not shattered. Once the team could pull down the boards, she thought this place would make a nice little stay, even if it was only a thought borne out of spite. Giorno was determined to make this place a livable home simply because they were expected to hate it. If these were to be long term housing for the team, they’d make it work. It would be better than the impersonal hotel rooms, she’d make sure of that. They could personalise this place in their spare time, wherever they might catch those moments between work, of course.

Speaking of work, Giorno knew before she could continue studying her documents she would have to do some housekeeping. It was tedious, but it would have to be done. Ungalo and Rikiel would happily rot away in this dump if she let them. Giorno used her stand aura to turn the crumbling pieces of plaster and debris into flowers before sweeping them out of the door. She continued this way, going through each room and cleaning with her stand aura. Doing this, she found some cheap cleaning supplies lazily dumped into a corner, still perfectly packaged. Thank god for the little mercies The Speedwagon Foundation would afford her. 

Giorno spent two hours scrubbing and learned about what in the house worked and what didn’t. There was no gas or running water. There was a well a short walk away from the back door, grown over and unkept, but from a quick glance as she was inspecting the viability of the water, it seemed clear enough to be safe for skin. She’d just have to tell the team they’ll have to stock up on bottled water to drink. The cheapest bulk buys would probably be fine. Despite not having working gas or running water, Giorno learned that the electricity in the building worked just fine. Of course it did , she thought bitterly. without electricity, the team would be hindered in contacting the Foundation and their job would be harder to do. Giorno had been working for hours by this point, and though not perfect, she felt it was a great improvement. The floors, though still splattered with stains, were no longer sticky to walk on. With the amount of bleach she used, she should hope that they were actually clean enough to eat from. Giorno was rather proud of her work to say she only had a sponge, bleach and stagnant water to work with. And perhaps the dish soap. The mattresses on the beds were wet the whole way through, stinking of mould and rot. The same was to be said for the blankets. She didn’t know what to do and she didn’t want Donatello to have more to worry about when he landed. Thank goodness that she was such a proactive member of the team.

Giorno decided that what Donatello didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him and turned the mattresses into hoards of butterflies, letting them out of the window. Her brothers didn’t need to have another slap in the face like that. Better to be treated with disregard than the utter contempt this showed. Better to have them think there were no beds at all than to know that what they were given was entirely unusable. 

Giorno returned to scrubbing the floors (bedroom floors this time), hoping the tedium of the task would numb her brain and distract her from the bitterness and anger taking root deep in her bones. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she and her brothers were here, prepared to die while taking the utmost disrespect. Their morale had already taken a nasty hit from their last mission, why wasn’t that enough? Why was it their fate to be burdened with the hate and bitterness that their father incurred when they were wholly innocent? They could only take so much of living like this, and it was clear Donatello was reaching his own breaking point, and that wouldn’t do. 

Giorno slammed the brush against the floor in frustration.

       “If the fight in Italy gets bad, we have to promise each other that we won't try to play hero, okay?” 

Who did Donatello take her for, really? What the hell was that even about? It was obvious he was planning something. Something too big to bring the other three into. He’d never keep a secret from them unless it was important. Besides, the promise was wasted on them. Don't play hero? They weren’t heroes. When Giorno protected the others it wasn't for any selfless reason. It wasn’t born from some sort of image of dying like a martyr to protect her loved ones. It was simply because Giorno could not stand this miserable life on her lonesome. If any of them were to have the good fortune of dying first it should be her. 

But she digressed. Donatello was going to do something stupid and Giorno was going to figure out what it was. 

At some point, Giorno knew she’d have to take a break. She was only able to use Stand Aura, so she was quite exhausted from her overuse of it. The sun was setting and she had taken out her own stacks of papers, flipping through them to decide on her point of entry. Giorno had to figure out how she was going to learn more about Passione and how to best infiltrate the Mafia. While Donatello would look for weakness, Giorno knew the best place to start was with the unassuming. The Narcotics team would be obvious, they were out by sheer fact of density. There were four or so members of note, but there were plenty of pointless footmen that Giorno knew she would get lost in, especially without the help of a fully awakened Stand. The assassin team was far too volatile, their shaky history with the don would put any new member of the team into instant suspicion and likely, the team would be further away from finding the Don than anyone else. They were out of the question. That left a handful of other squads for her to try and infiltrate while also keeping in mind the fact that she was benched. 

The reminder that on this mission she was to refrain from fighting certainly put a damper on her mood. She just had to be more clever. It seemed this time she really was going to have to play honeypot, wasn't she? Well, with that in mind, the only team that seemed like she’d be able to infiltrate it was a small one only labelled Team Bucciaratii. They were not a bad choice. The team Leader- Bruno Bucciarati- was capo Polpo’s favourite, and capo Polpo was a favourite of the Don’s from what Giorno had gotten to read about him. Better than that, they were all close in age to herself, Bucciarati himself only being nineteen years old. That would mean fewer reservations about taking her on. That was good. Giorno would have to do some reconnaissance on the team but all she needed to do was manufacture a meeting, plant her roots, and bug every table, chair, shirt and shoe in sight. For a moment, the idea of torture crossed her mind before she disreguarded that one too. Torture rarely provided truthful answers. The front door clicked open, and an exhausted Donatello stepped in with his luggage. Without his Speedwagon Uniform, Donatello looked quite upper class, in stark contrast to the living conditions the team were finding themselves with.

“This is nicer than I was expecting.” Donatello looked around the room, admiring Giorno’s handy work. He then looked over to Giorno with an exasperated expression, “honestly, you’re just now reading through the brief?” he asked, clearly expecting better from her. Earlier Giorno had said that what Donatello didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. But now, with the tone of voice he was taking, she wasn’t so sure. 

“There's no water or gas.” Giorno said, deciding to ignore Donatello’s previous words for her own sanity. 

“Electricity?” he asked, looking into the bedrooms.

“Yeah, but that’s it.”

“That’s fine.” Donatello said, “we’ll use this first month for reconnaissance. Our budget can go to air mattresses and a pump. When it comes to food, it’s all fair game, just remember to not get caught.” Giorno sighed. Pickpocketing on the job was always humiliating. “Hey, cheer up a bit, next month we’ll be doing loads of spy stuff. You love that crap.” 

“But no fighting.” Giorno deadpanned. 

“Well, maybe if you spend this month proving to me that you’re not going to be throwing yourself in front of a gun, I'll change my mind.” Donatello waved his hand around Giorno’s general area. “Clean up after yourself and let’s get this place in some sort of order before Dumb and Dumber arrive. They’ll be more than happy to rot in this dump and we both know it's impossible to clean around them.” 

Giorno didn’t huff, even if she really wanted to. Instead, she stood up and began helping Donatello with other chores. Giorno worked on the kitchen while Donatello worked on dismantling the bed frames. They wouldn't be needing them for a while, so they had agreed to tuck the panels into the built in closet. 

“Where are we even going to find a blow up mattress?” Giorno asked, scrubbing at the rot at the back of the cupboard. 

“Usually superstores sell them,” Donatello replied, struggling to fit the wooden frame panels into the closet. “If they don’t, we can just go into anything that looks like they’ll sell camping stuff and hope for the best.” Donatello quickly retreated from inside the cupboard and slammed the door shut on it. The wooden frames all fell into the door as Donatello backed away slowly, quickly joining Giorno in the kitchen. “That’s a problem for the next one to open the door.”

“Rikiel,” Giorno said dryly. 

“Yeah, probably Rikiel.” 

Giorno stood up to admire her work around the kitchen. While before she had focused on the floors, now she was onto removing the rubble from the splintered wooden countertop. 

“Should we just get rid of these?” she asked, pointing to the cupboards and countertop. Nothing in the kitchen seemed viable, they’d likely have to . 

Donatello looked them over, thinking. “We should Ungalo proof them just in case, but we have no means to replace them so…” Donatello paused, looking at the chipped and splintered wood. “We'll leave them for now. If we can find some time and budget to fix them, then we’ll do that.” they were never going to have the time or budget to do that. “Actually, forget that. Let’s go shopping. We can grab the mattress, blankets and pump. Maybe some tools and uhh…” Donatello looked around the room, “cup noodles and a kettle.” 

“I think that’s going way over budget.” Giorno spode dryly. Donatello gave her a wide grin.

“Well, then you can just turn the pump and blankets into butterflies and we’ll buy everything else.” Giorno assumed the plan would be something like that. 

If Giorno could give one thing to Italy, it was that the country was beautiful. Even this short walk to the corner shop was down right beautiful, not that Giorno ever had much to compare it to. Her eyes fell on a small lake, barely big enough to be considered a lake, really. A small flock of little ducks and three large, angry geese all glided across the water's surface. The water shimmered with the sunlight and shadows that tangled together in the ripples. 

She carried with her two large bags, hanging on her wrists filled with blankets. Under her arm was tucked a moderately sized box for the pump, meanwhile Donatello carried the boxes for the kettle and air mattress. For some reason, on top of that he decided to balance four tubs of cup noodles. 

“I could put those cup noodles in my bags, you know?” Giorno asked, finally fed up of watching her brother struggle. “Honestly, I don't know why you don’t let Under World help. I’d use mine for every mundane thing imaginable if I could get it to manifest.” 

“It’s fine!” Donatello huffed, losing his footing for a brief second and struggling to keep everything balanced together. “I can’t use my stand here. If we get spotted we’ll have an instant target on our backs and it’ll put us back fifty steps. Honestly, it’s unsafe to even talk about it, as isolated as this area is.” Donatello shot a pointed look to Giorno, though the girl didn’t feel as admonished as she likely should have, considering he was giving this glare over a tub of instant noodles. 

“Do you think I'll ever get it to fully manifest?” she asked, looking out to the sun setting, lighting the world up with gorgeous golds and warm tones.

“You stand?” Donatello asked, “probably. It’s not a bad thing you haven't gotten it to manifest yet, it’s a painful transition.” Donatello let out a little grunt as he shifted his posture to have the box sit more comfortably in his arms, “Rikiel was sick for weeks, remember?” Giorno did remember. Rikiel was bedridden with no signs of getting better, in fact, each day brought a new worry as a different organ failed while another got better. The doctors could never understand why he was suffering from Stand Sickness for so long until other stand users showed up. Rikiel had been accidentally using his stand on himself the whole time and while it was funny to look back on, Giorno remembered fear gripping her every waking moment. “Ungalo’s sickness wasn’t too bad but… now he has that collar to control him in case he gets any ideas.” Giorno nodded. “Honestly, out of all of us, we’re the luckiest, Giorno.” Giorno tried to ignore the pang in her chest at the sound of her new name. “For as long as we are with The Speedwagon Foundation I pray you never manifest your stand to completion. They’d look for a way to control it and by extension, you too.” 

“But what about you?” Giorno asked, “I don't see any measures to keep you in check.” Donatello averted his eyes then, looking out towards the sunset himself. 

“I suppose you’re right.” he said after a beat too long of silence. There was something he simply wasn’t telling Giorno and it was miserable for the girl to think her brother couldn’t trust her with his thoughts. The four of them were supposed to be a team, right? 

“In that way, I think I must be the luckiest of us all.”  

Giorno wasn’t so sure. 

“So… how did this happen?” Giorno asked, looking to Rikiel, who was doubled over laughing, and Ungalo, who was on the ground blinking away tears. 

“You locked the door with vines!” Ungalo accused, and Giorno just blinked emptily.

“Yeah.” she replied slowly, “it’s obvious this house used to be a den for squatters so i wanted to make sure nobody tried to enter while we were gone.”

“Well it worked!” Ungalo snapped, causing Rikiel to burst out laughing again. 

“Good.” Giorno replied simply, waving her hand over the door and returning the vines to be part of the doors locking mechanism again. “That means it works and you’re all welcome for the extra layer of protection I will be providing over our stay.” 

“Shit, I think I'm bleeding!” Ungalo spun on his feet to try and inspect his back. “Am I bleeding, Rikiel?” Ungalo turned to show his back to Rikiel who only rolled his eyes.

“You’re fine.” Donatello said, inspecting down Ungalo’s vertebrae. “If something comes of this, we’ll contact the Foundation and send you back to be healed. Now stop playing around and get inside.” Donatello demanded, walking between the two and into the building. 

Giorno had already plugged in the kettle by the time the brothers had settled down, and Ungalo was still huffing about his poor spine. 

“Honestly, you’re lucky they were as thick as they were.” Rikiel scoffed, “imagine if you just ended up snapping them and suddenly your spine is in four pieces!”

“You wouldn’t have been nearly as hurt as you are if you hadn’t tried to force the door open.” Giorno informed, “you should have just been patient. 

“I’ve been on a boat for almost 12 hours! Why in God's name would I want to be patient! I thought there’d be a nice bed in here waiting for me!” 

“You looked at this glorified crack shack and thought you’d have a nice bed?” Rikiel snorted, pulling a face of disbelief. 

“I am very tired!” Ungalo huffed, “I threw up like three times on that boat! Not to mention when you tried to kill me!” Giorno and Donatello both turned their attention to Rikiel who raised his hands in anticipation of their ire. 

“He snatched my sword-”

“You offered it!”

“You weren't supposed to take it!” 

“Right!” Donatello shouted over them both before their argument could devolve further. “You.” he pointed to Rikiel, “don’t offer him your sword, are you stupid?” Donatello turned to point his finger at Ungalo, “and you! Don't accept someone else’s sword! your sword is customised to suit you perfectly. You and only you, do you understand? Its-”

“Dangerous! Yeah, I got that when it almost took off my face!” 

Giorno felt now would be the best time to intervene in the conversation.

“The bed’s fully inflated now.” she told them, moving to plug up the lip. “There's some cushions and we got some blankets- okay.” Ungalo didn't even let her finish. Instead of getting the mattress ready to be slept on, he simply crawled over to the inflatable and lay face down on it. “Ungalo-”

“Let it go, Giorno.” Donatello said, “we’ll have our noodles and then work out how we’re going to divide the bed up later.” Giorno could at least agree to that. Food sounded just perfect right now. 

Giorno, Rikiel and Donatello sat on their blankets in the main room as they ate their noodles.

“So, Giorno.” Rikiel slurped his mouthful of noodles loudly, “why the name change?” he asked. “It could have been anything, I mean, we all just changed our last names.”

“Giorno Giovanna.” Donatello rolled the name on his tongue, not yet ever having said it out loud before. His fork splashed into his noodles, shock painting his face. Giorno knew they’d get it eventually. 

“I guess you could call it another little act of rebellion.” she replied cryptically. 

“Giorno Giovanna, huh?” Rikiel tasted the name, “it rolls right, at least.” 

“Of course it rolls right.” Donatello’s face was scrunched as he tried to suppress the wide smile breaking out onto his face. “Well, Welcome to the team, Giogio.”

“Thank you, Donatello.” Giorno didn’t bother to hide her own shit eating grin. 

“I don't get it.” Rikiel sighed. 

“Honestly Jotaro, they’re perfectly normal.” Okayasu said, munching down on some sticky ribs. “I don't understand why you wanted us to spy on them, they’re just some guys.” 

Jotaro had been waiting in Italy for the four teens to arrive with intel on the Brando children. Josuke, Okayasu, Yukako and Koichi had each been assigned a member of Team Brando to evaluate, Jotaro didn't understand why the Foundation was so relaxed about letting his children run around unsupervised. Their current residency was the Endicott Hotel’s penthouse suite. Full balcony with pool and hot tub, and on call room service. The teens all made sure to take advantage of this all expense paid holiday, trays of fancy foods being scattered all around its main space. 

“Hm,” Jotaro thought about that for a moment. This was their first long term trip, their first time to be completely unsupervised while on the job. Jotaro couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had.  “And you, Yamagishi?” 

“Hm?” she asked, “oh, right, the moody blonde on the train.” her eyes never left Koichi, clearly she was off in her own world. “He’s incredibly quiet but aside from that he really didn’t seem all too strange.” 

“Same goes for Rikiel and Ungalo.” Josuke shrugged, “I mean, Ungalo is a bit rough on the eyes, but aside from that he’s just a guy. Even if Rikiel was kind of a bully to him.”

“Dude, I'm telling you, that’s just how siblings are.” Okayasu waved off. 

“Koichi?” Jotaro turned to the boy, “You’ve been quiet.” 

“Ah!” he squeaked, “Sorry! I was just thinking!” he fumbled awkwardly over his excuses. 

“I guess, if I had to say anything about Haruno- i mean, Giorno…” he paused again, thinking of how best to form his opinion of the girl, “Giorno has a strong aura to her. She’s very no nonsense but-... I dunno, I get the feeling that isn't all there is to her. Honestly, it’s the same kind of energy I get from you and Josuke. If that makes sense…” Jotaro looked down to the files of the Brando siblings. 

“Haruno Brando , second identity; Giorno Giovanna, huh?” he wondered out loud. “That’s all I needed to hear. Feel free to enjoy your vacation.” Jotaro stood then, leaving the group of friends to enjoy their holiday. 

“Okayasu quick! Before the love birds pollute it, the hot tub!” 

Jotaro sighed as he left the room. He shouldn’t be so worried. Rikiel’s own stand would turn on him if he got nervous, Ungalo had that band around his neck to ensure he didn’t use his Stand without explicit permission and Giorno couldn’t even manifest her stand wholly yet. If that were to happen on this trip, she’d be sick and her brothers would inform the Foundation. He may be wary of their characters, but Jotaro had heard how protective they were of one another. It was not a trait he disrespected, family was important, but any weapon against an enemy was valuable.

The only member of the team worth worrying about was Donatello, but Jotaro wasn’t stupid. As long as his siblings stayed in line he would too. Donatello was not the kind to rock the boat, he kept his head down and he kept out of the way, which was more than his other siblings had managed.

“Good frickin’ grief.” he sighed, tucking the files under his arm. He’d be setting back off to America. Jolyne and her mother would be moving house soon. It’d be the only chance he’d get to see them in god knows how many more years.

Chapter Text

Rikiel prided himself on being the most tactically inclined of his siblings. While Donatello was the leader, Giorno was the muscle and Ungalo was the… Informant , Rikiel had versatility under his belt, an invisible stand that slowly killed without the person ever knowing why. This stand acted well at close range, his accuracy only improving when distance was closed, as well as long range, what with how many sky fish he could pull from the air. With this versatility, he was the best candidate to take up the role of following the Passione Consigliere, Doppio Vinegar. This was a job for him, a job the other three would certainly suffer from attempting. That being said, a character so close to the top of Passione meant that Doppio would be well protected and that was certainly not good for Rikiel. 

See, Rikiel, for being proud of his strength and versatility, could not say that he was the strongest (or even the bravest) of his siblings. In fact, Rikiel strongly considered himself the weakest due to his one fatal flaw. 

“If he goes tailing the consigliere he’s going to have a meltdown.” it was Giorno who spoke, an easy warning that everybody already knew. 

“So should we send Ungalo with him?” Donatello asked Giorno, as always, leaving the two concerned parties out of the conversation. 

“Why am I always babysitting!” Ungalo argued, “he’s fourteen! He can do it himself or not at all.” 

Donatello nodded, “for once, I agree with Ungalo,” Rikiel narrowed his eyes at Donatello.  “If you don’t want to do this Rikiel, you can say so. We won’t begrudge you for it.” 

and wasn't that novel?

Choices for the Brando children were few and far between. While Donatello always accepted everything that came his way with easy grace, a testament to the blonde's endurance, the other three had always argued, huffed, or whined about the situations they were found in. Donatello always grounded them in reality. They had no choice. They have never been given a choice.

“I’ll do it.” Rikiel said with a lazy shrug, trying his hardest to exude the confident indifference often worn by Donatello and Giorno. Choices were not common in Rikiel Brando’s life. So when he was offered a choice, especially by one he held in such high regard, wasn't it his duty to choose the option that would benefit the others? Choices were kindness. Kindness should be met with kindness. That's what the world ran on, wasn't it?

Donatello smiled, something warm, and happy. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. It didn’t feel kind to say but Donatello’s current happiness was frightening. It opened a pit in Rikiels gut. The sincerity of it all... it was concerning! And nobody was talking about it! It didn’t feel real. It made Rikiel feel like he was crazy! For Donatello to be behaving like this on the mission destined to execute them all, Rikiel could see it. Just behind Donatello’s teeth, stirring deep in his eyes and under his skin, something awful was laying in wait. Donatello was hiding something. Whatever it was, Rikiel was sure it was going to destroy him. Or them. Whichever came first.

Rikiel wouldn’t shatter this fragile happiness by admitting he knew something was wrong, though. For now, while he could, Rikiel would let Donatello be happy. Whatever Donatello was hiding… they were siblings. And when the time was right, they’d all be told.

“In this case, I likely won’t be home often. The Consigliere seems to travel a lot.” Rikiel said, glancing down to his slim folder on the consigliere. Only three of the nineteen Speedwagon Representatives returned to give their reports. 

“Then you will text every hour you're awake and you will call every day at five PM on the dot.” Giorno answered. Donatello and Ungalo nodded their agreement. 

“And you’ll run the second something comes up!” Ungalo added quickly, “even if it’s just bad juju, you know? The second the energy goes bad, get the hell out of dodge!” 

“I agree.” Donatello said simply. “We will not throw away our lives here.” Donatello paused, looking between his siblings. “We will live and prove ourselves indispensable.” some things never changed, at least. Donatello still keeping his loyalties clear soothed any major fears. If he was certain they'd come back from this, then they would! Donny hadn't been wrong yet.

Giorno stalked through the streets of Napoli with fierce intent. She had spent this first month of their mission gaining intel on Team Bucciarati, following them at a distance as they worked, then following them as individuals when they split up. Studying the group as she had led her to figure out the many quirks and tics the team had that very well could have led to an immediate failure on her part. It was a good thing she was so prudent with her plans. 

Bruno Bucciarati was adored in the community. Despite being a gangster, he was held in high regard for his efforts towards the community and his beautiful face. If she approached him, it was likely he would turn her away with kind words and the belief that she would be better off as a civilian rather than a gangster, out of a moral obligation. He was not her point of entry.

Leone Abbacchio was a hostile drunkard who would likely be suspicious of her and turn her away with words more bitter than his alcoholic breath. The likelihood of the encounter turning hostile was too high.

Pannacotta Fugo was out for similar reasons. 

That left two options. Narancia Ghira and Guido Mista.

Narancia Ghirga was… to put it plainly, an idiot. He lacked the basic intelligence to be considered as an entry point, his word held the worth of golden rings in the hands of Midas. He was also easily impressionable and would likely cave to the judgement of the team should they not respond well to his recommendation of her.

That left Guido Mista. Seventeen years old. Blank stare but a heart of gold. As much gold as a Mafia man in Italy can have, at least. He also seemed to be a ladies man, contrary to what his tacky outfit would have one believe. Giorno had resolved to get her ‘ in ’ with him. Failure was not an option.

Giorno’s easiest task in regards to this little mission was the fake ID’s she had to request from the Foundation. Everything else was the difficult part. Orchestrating a meeting was not something as simple as simply running into someone with your morning coffee and hoping that your display of clumsiness charms them beyond belief. 

It was a gorgeous day, Giorno acknowledged in her wait. Spring in Italy was far more tolerable than where she was located in London before. Neither place had snow but the chill in Italy was far… less. She felt comfortable in her suit and skirt, even without leg warmers. It was nice here. Maybe, when she was old and gross, she would retire here. 

her fanciful daydream of retirement was cut short as she locked her eyes onto her target, Guido Mista. He was wandering down the street, eyes focused entirely on the floating Stand to his left. They were too far away to overhear, but Giorno wasn’t worried. His stand was notoriously social with its user, even going as far as to demand food from him on multiple occasions. Sex Pistols being out was not unexpected. Giorno looked at her clock. 

Now was the time. It was true that orchestrating chance meetings were not as simple as they were in movies and books. However Guido Mista was an idiot, so a complex series of events pulling them together would likely go unnoticed. If Giorno wanted to be recognised by Guido Mista, it would have to be a direct and simple approach. 

“Excuse me?” she asked, keeping her posture as straight and friendly as she could. “I was wondering if we could have a conversation?” she asked, trying her best to keep her eyes on Guido Mista’s face, rather than acknowledge his Stand. 

“What a cutie!” 

“She's so adorable, Mista!”

“Couldn’t you just eat her up!”

“I bet Mista is her first real crush!”

“Hey, uh, sorry, girlie, but you are like-” Guido Mista paused, looking over Giorno’s face, “too young for me. You’re like- twelve!” 

“Not about that!” Giorno flustered, “And I'm fourteen.” It took great concentration from Giorno to keep her cheeks cool. She was not twelve . “It’s actually about your occupation,” she explained. “The truth is… I want to speak to your boss. I want in.” 

“Your fathers nose was far more straight than that!”
Not for the first time, Ungalo lamented his own weak mental fortitude, if only for the fact that Anubis could be quite pissy when it came down to it. If nothing else could be appreciated today, the Italian sun was quite lovely, even for spring.

“If you remember his face so clearly, maybe you should be the one to draw it, genius.” Ungalo snapped, letting go of the charcoal and looking at the image he had sprawled across the concrete tiles that lead to the siblings' doorstep. The image was as close to the description as Ungalo could provide, but according to his Anubis, something was missing. Dio Brando was an intimidating and powerful man, with eyes harder than cast steel and features sharper than Anubis’ own razor edge. The charcoal sketch did not do the man justice. Not even Giorno’s cherished photo could capture anything but those pools of red. It didn't matter how flowery the sword's words, or how precise its descriptions, Ungalo simply could not get this right. In the grand scheme of things, it seemed Ungalo could get nothing right at all. 

“There’s no point to doing this,” Ungalo huffed, finally giving up on the artistic project. The work had only served to bruise the boy's already fragile ego, anyway. Dio Brando was dead and soon, if the Speedwagon foundation had their way, his children would be too. “He’s dead- and even if Bohemian Rhapsody could bring him back– it wouldn’t be him, so I don't know why you bother trying to convince me of this bullshit.” 

“Now, you don't know that at all!” Anubis argued, the sword's words bouncing around loudly in Ungalo’s skull. “If you were to make an image of him- if you were to-”

“It would be just that.” Ungalo sighed, climbing to his feet to grab the mop bucket. “What could a painting do to save us, anyway?” the soapy water splashed against the concrete, washing away the powder lines that constructed the vampire's face. Ungalo watched the charcoal bleed away, his face and heart scrunched with an emotion he didn’t know how to place. 

The sun sure was bright today. 

“I’m half vampire, but I don't burn in this heat.” Ungalo acknowledged, eventually setting the plastic bucket down and heading back inside their glorified crack shack. “From what Giorno says, he was as every bit kind and loving as a regular dad but-” but nobody else believes Dio Brando could ever be such a gentle man . 

“You children are cut from your fathers flesh,” Anubis began. The silver blade shimmered in the light, and Ungalo liked to pretend it was how the sword conveyed emotion. “Your father was a proud man, and each of his children have become so unimaginably powerful in their own right. Even Haruno-”

 Confusion pulled at Ungalo’s brow, “Who’s Haruno?” 

“--Even Giorno, who has yet to awaken their stand to its fullest potential, has shown skill and creativity with their limited capabilities.” Anubis’ sigh rattled in Ungalo’s head, echoing with fondness and memories that Ungalo was not privy to. “Not only would your father love you, I am certain he would be proud of you, too.” 

“He’d be proud of them,” Ungalo argued, moving towards his laptop to begin his sleuthing. All Ungalo was good for was reading, anyway. “But I doubt he’d look at me as on par with them.” Donatello had made their situation his own, Giorno was cool, confident and proper. Her schemes and plans were only shamed by the fact that she so easily used herself as leverage in a battle. And Rikiel? Well, sure he was as cowardly as Ungalo, but his stand was powerful. And Ungalo? 

He pulled his collar up high,pressing the fabric of his hoodie flush against the cold metal band around his neck. 

“You are every bit as powerful and capable as your siblings.” Anubis’ voice was gentle in Ungalo’s head, “I should know, I'm in all of your heads, after all.”

“That makes me feel more gross than comforted,” Ungalo sighed, slumping in his corner to begin looking into any online information on Passione. It was a pointless job, really. Where did he even begin looking? A pointless job to keep Ungalo out of the way.

“You really have got to stop thinking like that, Ungalo.” Anubis sighed. The invasion of his privacy caused Ungalo to slap the laptop closed. 

“Well, it's true!” he argued, crossing his arms, “they’re all out there, joining Passione and spreading themselves thin to get the job done- and they ditch me on the couch! It’s insulting as all hell.”

Benched my ass , Ungalo thought bitterly, knowing that when push came to shove, Giorno would fight all the same. 

“If you find your position so detestable, then go on and give yourself a different job!” Anubis encouraged, too fed up to allow Ungalo’s tantrum to go on any longer. 

Giving himself a new job… that didn't sound too terrible. 

Donatello was used to the short end of the stick. That being said, the place the Execution Team resided was almost worse than the tiny ramshackle house the Brando siblings were given. Impressive, considering the maltreatment of the Brando children was out of spite and hatred. 

“You aren’t used to company, are you?” Donatello asked light heartedly, trying to ease the coldness from Risotto Nero’s eyes. 

“You came here seeking counsel, boy.” Risotto Nero’s voice was as powerful and intimidating as the rest of him. The man's posture was relaxed, as peaceful as the day outside. “You know the character of men within this room, the cloth we are cut from, and yet you still have the courage to stand before us and… what?” What did Donatello want?

“I’ve come here seeking an ally.” Donatello said simply, dodging the question with practiced grace. “You see, my siblings and I have been put in a precarious situation. A suicide mission has been asked of us and after a lifetime of mistreatment, i find myself unwilling. Of course, I'm sure you know what happens to the unwilling?” The pinch in Nero’s brow was enough of a sign that Donatello had gotten his attention. “The deal I propose is this. A place in the Passione you see, for the low price of my aid and money to achieve your goal-” Donatello’s words caught in his throat. His breath stuttered as he hacked up crimson blood and a chunky razor with it. 

“You’re asking us to betray the boss?” The man speaking was Formaggio, the short bald one. “This punk thinks we have a death wish!” he scoffed loudly. 

“What made you think we would betray Passione so easily?” Nero asked, though clearly the man hadn’t expected a response. 

“Your position as leader of this team made me think you’d be more open to the idea of liberating your team from this bullshit cycle of nothing you currently have going on.” Donatello argued, using his Stand, Under World to speak for him now. “The people I work for have been watching your gang for a while now.” Donatello spat out another long needle, ripping his throat open further. “Sooner or later, your boss will die. I'm offering you the chance to take his place at the top, with the money and knowledge my Patrons can provide. I am here to grant the wish I know you have and all I want in return is the same.” 

“You’re a stand user?” Nero stood abruptly, red eyes darting around the room to try and see Underworld. 

At least Donatello had gotten the man's attention. It was just his luck he’d have to do this on such a lovely day.

“Jesus, you two look like shit!” Ungalo laughed when Giorno and Donatello returned from their individual tasks. Giorno’s hair was no longer the sleek black it once was. Her hair and uniform were both ruffled, the only thing on her person that seemed even slightly put together was the fancy Polpo branded lighter in her hand. 

Donatello hardly looked better, the front of his white shirt had drippings of blood trailing down it, his pants were covered in a layer of frost and there was a notable tear in his sleeve from where he had gotten himself hooked on something. 

“Hey, Ungalo, babysit this for me.” Giorno asked, placing the lighter on the floor in front of a confused Ungalo, “it’s probably a stand thing. My initiation into Passione. Don't let it go out, okay?” she asked, before throwing herself down onto the floor beside them.

“Hey!” Ungalo snapped, “don't just go saying stuff like that and then throw yourself around so easily!” Ungalo huffed, watching Donatello check his phone. 

“Rikiel is fine." he texted.” Donatello explained as he threw himself down beside Giorno, closing his eyes just as quickly. 

“What? Guys! Don't just go to sleep– I can't cook for us! I don't even know how to cook! Guys!” Ungalo’s pleas fell on deaf ears, Giorno and Donatello both equally exhausted from the day to even think about getting up again. 

Ungalo huffed as he reached for one of the discarded blankets, draping it over the two. 

“Honestly, you guys suck so hard sometimes.”