Chapter Text
June 5th - 1987. Pucci's 15th birthday.
The morning breeze was cool, yet humid. He awoke with distaste as he realised he hadn't closed his blinds earlier that night. Pucci sighed and reached forwards to shut them, embarrassed at his foolishness. Someone could see him! How stupid could he be?
He wasn't a fan of his neighbours who often took trips up and down his parents' house garden, especially since his room was overlooking them, and the nosiest of neighbours liked to be Peeping Toms. He had a heavy disdain against his neighbours, but he grumpily realised he had to get up and prepare himself for school.
Pucci groaned as he realised he hadn't even prepared his clothes for the morning. What was going on with him? He was such an organized person, how could he have forgotten... Oh. Perla took them. She loved to play petty tricks on him like this, stealing his clothes and hiding them somewhere in his room. She only did this because he was not a morning person, and he took a while to come around when he woke up, so by forcing him to walk around and find his clothes, it would wake him up properly.
He sighed, and stomped out of his bed, nearly tripping over his pyjama pants. 'Stupid things. Always too long for me, Mother always bought clothes two times too big as apparently I would "grow into them." Seems I infact did not.' He thought angrily to himself, waddling over to his wardrobe, to his surprise, Perla had neatly folded his clothes, and left a note on top of it. It read:
Happy Birthday !
Mother and Father haven't forgotten, they're just busy! I will hand your gifts to you personally after school, okay?
Just don't do anything stupid, you know the kids in your class suck balls, and like to trip you up, but just tell Pastor Adams! You know he sorted them out last time.
Lots of love, Perla.
His sister really was a lovely girl, he wondered how he struck the lottery with the younger sibling. They all loved to annoy the eldest, but Perla left him alone mostly. She was also a fan of using profanities, and Mother always scolded her for it, but it did not deter her from such words. Regardless of her singular flaw, she was an absolute angel, whom Pucci swore to take care of and protect with his life. No matter what.
He groggily got dressed, lazily chucking his cassock on, adjusting the collar and hobbled over to his vanity. He only owned the vanity because he needed the mirror, and for it to hold the smallest amount of makeup to make him look less dead in the mornings. This day, he looked extra rough, which he took as a warning. He wasn't a superstitious person usually, but he took his appearance in the morning as how the day ahead of him would play out. He had a pit in his stomach, he knew something would happen, he wasn't sure what, but it wasn't something good.
Patting on the smallest bit of concealer over his eyebags, and combing out the frizzy, matted mass of white curly hair on his head, he was ready for the day. He also recognised his hair was growing, and frowned. His hair type wasn't common among his peers, and seeing as his classmates were all white, his proper hair was kept at a close cut, or a buzz cut. This way, he could avoid most of the racially charged comments he got for just existing.
The only reason he was accepted into this prestigious seminary was due to his parents' money and wealth and status. If they had none of that, he would've been instantly declined, and told to pursue a different career.
Pucci's Father always told him, that in the end, all of those people who made nasty comments towards him were going to: "Have a first class ticket to see the Devil in the flesh, where they'd be punished to grueling torture for the rest of eternity." His Mother didn't say anything much about it, only: "Ignore them, sweetie. They don't know how amazing you are." As she had never experienced such comments or attacks before, as she was a white lady. Yet, she still tried her best to understand, and Pucci was grateful for that.
Sighing again, he put on his watch and rubbed his eyes in shock. 'Was it telling the truth? No it mustn't be!' The clock hands read 10:34, and if they were in fact correct, he was a whole two and a half hours late for school. It started at 8:00, with mass, before everyone went off to their classes to learn about their ways of life. He ran towards his door, desperately sprinting down the stairwell, pissed off with his tardiness, didn't realise his speed, and tripped over himself, landing flat on his face at the bottom of the stairs with a BANG!.
"Shit.. That hurt." He winced as he tried to get back up again. 'I'm already late..' He thought sadly to himself. "This day is going horribly already..." He sighed, and turned himself to sit down. He pulled up his robes a little, and peered down at his foot, which had a swollen and bruised ankle. 'That doesn't look too good. I must've twisted it on the way down.' He thought to himself as he saw his ankle throbbing, with a harrowing shade of purple and green appearing almost all over it. He poked at it, and let out a small cry. 'Definitely not good. Maybe I should ask Ryan to take me to the hospital, then once I've been seen, I should just stay in the church and help out a bit, to make myself as useful as I can..' He thought, still sat on the bottom step.
As soon as he finished that thought of his, Ryan came rushing over to him "Are you okay? I heard that from the opposite end of the house!" He exclaimed, with small beads of sweat running down the sides of his upturned eyebrows. "Yes, I'm sure I'll be okay. Could you help me up and get me to the hospital? Not the E.R, just the normal A+E one please.. I believe I've strained my ankle very badly." Pucci responded, sadly. "Oh, I could have a look at it, maybe we just need to strap it up, and have you walk carefully on it." Ryan explained, his voice calm and kind.
"That would be a much easier option. You seem to have more reasoning than I do." Pucci stated, rolling up the ends of his robes a bit, to show Ryan the ankle. Ryan chuckled and said; "Yes, it does seem to have been strained. It looks almost to be broken, but taking another look, all you clumsy little thing has done is indeed strain it to its extremity. Potentially damaged a few ligaments too. You need to slow down, Mister. You know your leg can't handle it right now." He patted Pucci's shoulder and looked at him with a conflicting facial expression. Half was annoyed, the other half was worried and upset, almost like a parent, scolding their child for being reckless again.
Pucci's parents were very busy people, and whenever they had spare time, they spent it with each other or their friends, leaving only a miniscule amount, if any, to Perla and him. That's the reason he was raised by all of the nannies in the home, and as he got older he was handed over to Ryan. He saw Ryan as a father figure, whom he looked up to, just like DIO. Having parents like his, made him seek refuge in older people, especially those literally old enough to take care of him. He felt safe with them, as if they were his real parents.
"Let me get the bandages. I will be back. Don't move." Ryan stated, patting him again on the shoulder, and jogging off out of sight. "Not like I can go anywhere in this situation..?" He questioned, looking down at the floor, putting his head in his hands. Now even more concerned about the day ahead of him, he began to cry. He didn't have a proper reason, but he could use the ankle as an excuse if Ryan asked. "What the hell is the rest of my day going to be like if this is just the beginning?! And on my birthday too.." He said, in between sobs. This was not a good day whatsoever. He dreaded the upcoming hours.
Ryan came back over to him, bandages in his hands. "Hey, what's wrong? Come now, don't be so upset!" He spoke, his tone laced with concern and anxiety, as he pulled Pucci closer to him, and hugged him tightly. Gently running his hand up and down his back, he tried so hard to make him stop crying. "I have the bandages, come, sit up properly so I can wrap your ankle." He spoke gently, and propped Pucci up against the stair, and started to wrap his ankle. "You'll be alright. This is just a bad start, there's no need to be so upset in the morning. The rest of the day will be fine, I promise." Pucci felt he was lying. There was something sinister brewing up ahead, and he knew it. It was buried inside of him, but the dread and guilt kept rising up, as if he was preparing himself for something tragic to happen.
Ryan lifted him up, and carried him outside of the house, down the vast gardens, down towards their car, where he placed him inside, let him buckle up, and started to drive.
"I would like to just stop by at the church near the seminary, please. I would like to help clean it, and make me at least a little bit useful, in my current state." Pucci spoke, his tone filled with sorrow and despair. "You're going to be fine, and of course I can take you there." Ryan responded, noticing the hint of sorrow in Pucci's voice.
***************
As he arrived at the church, he had an ominous feeling seep into him, just like the day he met DIO. It was clear to him, that something was up, and it wasn't going to be fun.
He unlocked the massive doors, and headed inside. Once inside, he noticed a woman's legs kneeling inside the confession box, and he heard her sob. He realised the box hadn't been cleaned in a while, so he creeped behind it, grabbed the polish and the wipe, and began scrubbing the wooden exterior.
The woman, upon hearing him scratch and scrub away at the wall, began to wail and through sorrowful sobs, she started speaking. "I can't... I just cannot keep this for longer.." She whispered, through cries. "I'm sorry, I'm not the priest.. He will be here soon though!" Pucci spoke loudly, trying to get her attention over her cries. "Please! Just listen.." She shouted half heartedly. Pucci didn't respond, and she continued.
"I..I am on my deathbed. I am horribly sick.. I can't.. Keep this secret no longer." She whimpered, tears streaming down her eyes. "On this day, 15 years ago... I swapped someone's living son for my dead one." Pucci's eyes widened, he was prepared for heavy stories.. but none as heavy handled as this. "I believe.. The family name... Was.. Oh my.. I barely remember, but I believe it was.. Pucci. Yes, that was the name." Pucci couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Did she just really say that..? No, she couldn't have! What in God's name was she saying?
"I still.. I still feel so sorry for them.. I refuse to believe my actions.." The woman proceeded to continue crying, her tears flooding the little arm rest in the confession box. "The child... his name is Wes.. Wes Bluemarine.. I named him.. I don't know what his birth name is.. But I still have utter remorse and I just couldn't keep it all in.. He's such a sweet boy.." She cried, her head in her hands in dismay.
Pucci dropped the cleaning supplies and hobbled out of the church as quickly as he could. Tears began flowing down his cheeks. His brother really was alive? After all of this..? His parents didn't even know. They still are in utter heartbreak because of it, even 15 years later. He wanted to tell them, but he couldn't.
Something caught his eye, he looked up from the ground and noticed his sister, Perla, and her friends filing out from a restaurant nearby. He called out to her, and waved to her. She noticed, and waved back. She turned around to speak to somebody, and grabbed his hand and ran towards Pucci.
"Enrico! Hi! Come say hello to my new boyfriend." She giggled, holding a hand over her blushed face. "Oh? What's this? Perla Pucci getting a boyfriend..?" He said in a jokingly condesending tone, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Oh stop that! Don't you dare tell Mother." She hissed, glaring at him. "I'm joking, Pearl. I won't! Now, who is he?" He laughed, as he turned to face the very pale man stood next to her.
"This is my boyfriend! His name is Wes Bluemarine!"
Pucci's heart skipped at least 5 beats.
She did not just say those words. He had to collect himself. 'Count your primes, Enrico.. Count your primes..'
'2.. 3... 5... 7... 11'
"Oh! That's wonderful! I'm happy for you." He responded, with a smile so fake, plastic surgeons were jealous. "See! I told you introducing you to my brother would be easy!" She spoke, playfully slapping Wes' arm. He chuckled and kissed her on the forehead.
That filled Pucci with inexplicable rage.
He had to tell her, but how?
After an agonizingly long wait, Perla had decided to head home. He wished her well, and told her he'd be staying behind in the church for a bit.
He lied.
He had the perfect plan on how they were to break up.
It would be simple, and no one would be harmed.
Right.
Right..?
He questioned himself, but shook it off. 'This was the right thing.' He told himself, as he stepped inside the musty building. He sat infront of a shady looking man, slapped a stack of bills on the table in front of him and explained the situation. "If you do it well, I'll pay you double." He whispered, staring daggers into the man's soul. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. I don't normally take kindly to... your types.. but cash is cash, after all." The man spoke, his words dirty with lies and tobacco from the shitty cigarrette he smoked.
This was the right thing.
He was doing the right thing.
Right?