Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Imagine having six children. Unbelievable I know. Now, imagine being a single father with six children. Not really the most standard situation. This time, think of waking up with six tiny bodies pressed against yours when you very distinctly remember tucking them all in just last night. This was the life of Guido Mista, proud single father of six.

Now, Mista is only twenty-five years of age. So you may now be wondering, why in the living hell does someone of his age already have six children? Wonderful question!

He found them in a cardboard box in the middle of the freeway.

It was raining like you wouldn’t believe that day. Mista was on his way to a meet up with Giorno and the others. The rhythmic tapping of raindrops against the metal roof of the Taxi soothing him as he watched small speckles of water collect on the window and race down just a moment later.

After what felt like an eternity, Mista was finally at ease.

That was until the unbridled chorus of shrieks and screams broke through the rain.

Shocked, Mista’s first instinct was to look out the window. Palms pressed flush against the cold glass of the taxi window as his eyes frantically darted around. Oh fuck is someone in danger?! His mind flickered between the worst possible scenarios. Someone got stabbed, shot maybe? That’d be interesting seeing his affinity for gunsmanship.

After a few moments that seemed to drag on forever, his eyes landed on the source of the noise. A soggy cardboard box sitting in the middle of the freeway. So that was where the screaming was coming from. His eyes dart around, as his mind once again goes to the worst case scenario before he makes the rather impulsive decision to get out of the taxi and run to it in spite of the traffic.

“Wait- Hey!” The taxi driver seems to be quite aghast at Mista’s sudden action, mouth agape and he yells at him to “get back over here” and to, “at least pay your fare before jumping out of the car!” His words fall onto deaf ears as Mista clutches his beanie against his head, rain beating down on him, soaking his shirt in the process. He was so gonna get scolded by Bucciarati for this.

After some moments of weaving between halted cars and vehicles until he was at that box, the sound of cries became more apparent to be the screams of babies, soaked by the rain.

Mista peeled back the flimsy top to find the wailing bodies of six small children inside, one seeming to have a vocal capacity that exceeded what he presumed to be its siblings. Was it ok to call babies “it”? Whatever he’d figure it out later. But most importantly, the hell was he supposed to do with these things? Bring them with him? That seemed most logical…

Bucciarati was going to kill him.

*

“Guido… Why did you bring a box with children in it?” Maybe kill was an overreaction. At the moment Bucciarati seemed more disappointed and shocked if anything, which was honestly fair. Afterall, how is a person supposed to react when a close friend of yours shows up to a meeting soaked in rain water with six unnamed babies in a cardboard box?

“Well, I like, found them on the freeway.” The box of children (which sounded weirder than Mista had initially thought) was now sitting on the table, most seemingly fallen asleep much to the relief of everyone present.

"You found them on the freeway?” Bucciarati echoed Mista’s answer back at him, arms crossed and brows raised as Fugo sat next to him, rubbing the temple of his head as if he was trying to knead the pain and annoyance out of it. Narancia too was at Fugo’s left, appearing to be very engaged in whatever he was messing with on his gameboy, only glancing up occasionally to look between Bucciarati, Mista, and the box.

“Ya basically…” Mista found himself picking slightly at the hem of his shirt, feeling the disappointed gaze of Bucciarati and the pointed one of Abbacchio drilling into his skull.

“Basically?”

“Not basically- I mean like- Yeah I found them on the freeway! They were even in that box!” Mista quickly jumped to defend himself as he now felt the eyes of other patrons on him and the others at the table, practically shrinking under the sheer cynicism within them.

The whole table is silent as they stare at him. Bucciarati’s face is colored with a mix of disappointment and exasperation, Fugo seems irritated, Narancia looks wholly uninterested, Abbacchio is just mad, Giorno’s face is unreadable, and Trish is watching with mild interest as if the spectacle before her is the latest column in her go-to tabloid magazine. If he were allowed to have his gun, Mista would’ve shot himself awhile ago.

“Well… What’s done is done, and now we have six small children… Our first course of action should be trying to find their parents.” Bucciarati held his chin between his thumb and index finger, contemplating the situation as his gaze moved from Mista and the box.

“I’ve come to a verdict. Guido, you will take care of the children for the time being.” Time seems to stop as everyone at the table pauses whatever they are doing, the fork in Fugo’s hand slipping out, hitting his plate with a clang.

“Wait- WHAT?!” Mista practically shrieks, drawing all the attention back to them as Giorno kicks his leg from under the table.

“Wha- You want me to take care of them?! To take care of actual living breathing human beings?! Why?!” 

“Simply put, you were the one who found them so you will take care of them until we find their parents. You started this so you will assist in ending it. Understand?” Mista is about to speak up again before Bucciarati sends him a look telling him that the conversation is over, only reinforced by Abbacchio’s even more terrifying one.

“I understand… How do I raise a kid though?”

*

Now it has been 5 years since the initial day he found all of them, and he’s their father . It was still a title Mista struggled to wrap his head around. He never imagined he’d have kids. They only weigh him down in the long run, and he values his freedom. Kids would only hinder it. But he grew to not mind it. In fact if he had to choose between never having to raise them or raising them he’d choose the latter. They’ve become so ingrained into his life he can’t even imagine it without them.

Shortly after the meeting where he’d brought the kids in the box the whole group put in their collective efforts to try and return them to their parents. Bruno and Giorno used their influence over the underbelly of Italy to try and locate them. Abbacchio was able to cooperate with an old friend from the police. Trish put up posters, Fugo did whatever Fugo does with his stupid intellect, and Narancia did, well. Narancia just helped where he could.

After two months of sleepless nights, the screams of babies, and several complaints from his landlord Mista found himself praying that the parents would come forward soon. But they never did, and he was now stuck with a group of sextuplets.

It was at this point that Mista accepted that it was now his responsibility to take care of these kids. So after three months of nothing he finally named them. To keep it simple and so that he’d remember all of them, they were named Primo, Secondo, Terzo, Quinto, Sesto, and Settimo. Did he use a method of counting to name them? Sure. What are you going to do about it? Fight him? Good luck with that. (He has his gang to back him up. They’re all very intimidating :))

All in all he was actually beginning to adapt. With the help of the rest of the group Mista was able to graduate college with a degree in visual arts, and get three part time jobs in general. One as a gunsmith, another as a McDonald's worker, and one as a photographer.

His life was hectic but he was happy and loved being around his friends and his kids.

*

I now present to you! The wacky hijinks and situations of Guido Mista and The Sex Pistols!

~~~

It is half past 1 and Mista finds himself taking one of the few moments he has between work, daycare, and gang service to himself. Maybe he could get take out without a bunch of screaming children up in his business. Or catch up on that TV show Narancia mentioned the other day. Take a nap maybe? A nap sounded really good right now. 

But of course, right as he settles down he gets a phone call. Typical.

“ Hello? Is this Guido Mista? I’m Bianca, calling from Sunny Side day care.”

Oh fuck.

“ You’re son er- Terzo bit another child… Again…”

Oh fuck .

“Oh- Uh- Do you want me to come pick them all up? I’ll be sure to give him a good talking to! Don’t have to worry about him biting any kids ever again. Oh- and don’t fret! He’s fully vaccinated and even got two rabies shots!” Talking has never been Mista’s strong suit. That has always been one of his other friends like Bruno, or Giorno. Not him. He is far too quick to violence and anger, and he knows it. It’s becoming more apparent by the day where Terzo gets it from.

“ Sir. I’m going to kindly ask you to find another daycare. We will refund you for this month's payment but the parents of the child have threatened to take legal action against us or you if we do not take measures to prevent incidents like this from happening… again… Please, just come and pick up your kids.”

Mista holds in an audible scream at her statement. Find another daycare? That is the fifth time in three months! In fact, this is the longest time he’s managed to keep his kids in a daycare, nearly two months! But now he is really beginning to run out of places to send the six.

“Of course. Uh- I’ll be there as fast as I can. You still have that muzzle I gave you right?”

"Sir, I believe that is child abuse .”

“Oh! Well… Er- Just wait for me then!”

Mista promptly hung up the phone, rushing out of the house

He arrives at the daycare about 15 minutes later. One of the main upsides of this selection was how conveniently close it was to his apartment. Of course that doesn’t matter anymore as he has to find a new daycare willing to accept 6 children, each with their own violent streak.

The whole conversation with the receptionist was awkward and stiff as he nervously laughed and ushered all his oh-so eager children out the door and into the van.

“Dad! Look at the drawing I made.” Mista turns to face Settimo who was eagerly holding up a drawing of barely legible scribbles. He is vaguely able to make out a landscape with figures in it, ones that he learns a moment later are the rest of the gang.

“That one’s Giorno, and that one’s Narancia, and that one’s Mr. Abbacchio getting rid of the bad guys!” Settimo points at a stick figure further to the corner of the page with white hair and something that almost resembles a gun, standing over another horribly misshapen stick figure with blood. Mista could feel himself sweat drop at the sight.

“Ah… That’s… That’s very… That’s very nice Settimo.” Mista puts on his best smile even though he can physically feel himself mentally screaming, and a small part of himself dying on the inside at every new development relating to his kids.

“DADDDDDD. FEED US.” 

“FEED USSSSS.” Hearing their high pitched screams and complaints from the inside of the van, Mista feels his patience snap. Almost. Instead of shoving a child's head through a wall it is much more reasonable to call your (second) most reasonable friend. 

“Fugo please! I just need you to watch them for like- Uh- Three hours!” Mista is whisper yelling into the phone as the kids play with their toys behind him, completely transfixed by the assortment of brightly colored plastic and pieces of wood.

“Why do you need me to watch them? Shouldn’t they be at daycare? Wait- Did you get banned again? Guido- This is what? The seventh time?” 

“Ya- But- Please. Just watch them. I’m gonna start my shift in an hour and I’m pretty sure Abbacchio and Bruno are on a date, and Giorno’s and Trish are running errands together. Please Fugo.” He practically begged into the phone, pleading with Fugo to just watch the kids for a mere three hours while he worked.

Fugo Sighs. “Fine. But I’m bringing Narancia. I’ve gotta help him study for college exams.”

“Yes! Thank you so much!”

“ Sure sure. You owe me.”

Chapter Text

Fugo and Narancia had arrived half an hour ago and Mista had left twenty minutes ago. The Sex Pistols were having, well, an interesting time.

When the two had first arrived Narancia had burst through the door fueled up on caffeine and a dream, while Fugo seemed much much much less enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. Soon after Mista had left and everyone was sitting in the living room. 

Primo and Secondo had been messing around the whole time, taking their small metallic toy cars, bashing them into each other making noises with their mouths to mimic revved up motors and such. Terzo had simply been sitting there glaring at the corner for some reason, and Quinto had been laying on the floor. Sesto was glaring at the same corner as Terzo while Settimo talked Quinto’s ear off, babbling about some arbitrary nonsense.

Narancia was a student in mechanical engineering. He’d spend his nights hunched over papers in the apartment Fugo and him shared with an empty mug of coffee and a half consumed can of Celsius to his right. No matter how much he hated studying arithmetics and chemical formulas ever since that spark had been ignited in him so many years ago Narancia’s ambition had remained the same. Eternally burning with fervor and passion.

But that wouldn’t stop him from dragging his feet the whole way.

“Fugoooooo. I don’t get it…” Narancia groaned and rested his head against the hard wood table that Mista had bought from a second hand shop. It was pretty shitty (The kids had been told that it was a no no word but quietly used it amongst themselves.) to be frank. The varnish was faded in numerous places, completely scratched up in others, and it wobbled as if its dream was to be a seesaw.

“I explained this to you last night. This is basic high school level chemistry, how do you not remember?” Fugo sighed before going over the motions again. Index finger moving from one place to the other on the paper, directing Narancia’s attention to somewhere new each time.

“You get it now?”

“Uh- I think?”

“Alright. Let’s try this again.” After a while it seemed that Narancia was finally beginning to grasp the concepts ever so slightly, though it came with great difficulty.

“Mr. Fugo.” The blond turned to his right where Quinto was looking up at him with wide eyes. (He was only able to identify him as Quinto due to the fact that his shirt read the number 5. After continuous mix ups Mista had eventually just resolved to print numbers somewhere on each of the children’s clothing.)

“Yes?”

“Where do babies come from?” Fugo felt his body turn still in an instant. What. The. Fuck. How was one supposed to answer that?!

Of course there was the typical, “When a man and woman love each other very much…” No- They were all too smart for that (all eyes were on Fugo). He could say that they were shipped in amazon packages. No, too many questions would be aroused from that. Maybe he could say that parents go to pick kids up at the hospital when they decide they want a baby? That wouldn’t work. What the hell was this?! A sitcom?! The blond was mentally screaming.

Fugo hadn’t even realized that he had been sitting still with a stoney face for the past 30 seconds, staring through Quinto.

“W-Why do you ask…?” He finally spoke in a wobbly voice.

“Well dad and I were talking about eggs and chickens and how chickens come from eggs and how they are babies when they come out…” Quinto seemed to trail off for a moment, babbling incoherently. Fugo could barely make out the words “yellow” and "fluffy”. Finally he got back on track.

“Then I asked where human babies come from.” Quinto looked up at Fugo with big innocent eyes. “Dad told me to ask you since you’re smart and can answer me properly.” He was so going to kill Mista the next time he saw him. The gunman owed him double now because of this!

“Well they come from s-” Narancia spoke up but was promptly cut off with a seventh grade math book to the face. Fugo had severely underestimated the intelligence of the sextuplets and bought it for them for their birthday. (When Mista looked at him confused at the gift Fugo became doubly confused, stating, “I was at a seventh grade level at their age. I’m sure this is nothing.”) The book had been rotting on the table since.

“Ask when you’re older. They come from a thing that only adults are allowed to know and do.” He prayed that it would be enough to shut them up and thankfully it was. Fugo was able to see in his peripheral vision Primo opening his mouth to say something, but was immediately distracted by Terzo knocking over his tower, causing a small screaming match between them. Fugo only pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Never open your mouth again.” He directed at Narancia, glaring holes into the head of the boy who was still rubbing his forehead from where the math book made an impact.

*

It was a few and far between that Mista ever had the opportunity for time to himself, much less a date. A real  date . Can you believe it? Him? Going on a real date? With a real girl? A real girl who was genuinely interested in him? Mista could die of happiness. Her name was Camila, and he remembered her from her distinct blue eyes and wavy brunette hair.

And oh she was beautiful! Maybe it was just Mista’s lack of interaction with women. (Due to his tight schedule he swears!) But he knew that she was special.

The date had been scheduled to be at a nicer (but still affordable) restaurant about the afternoon. Abbacchio had been forced to babysit the sextuplets and Narancia decided to tag along for whatever reason. Not that it mattered. No offense to Narancia but Mista would never let him babysit his freaking kids by himself. At least Abbacchio was there.

Oh how wrong he was.

The date was going swimmingly. Him and Camila were midway through their meal chatting as Mista talked about his part time as a photographer when she got a very perplexed look on her face.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Mista questioned. She was staring past him through the window at the front of the restaurant, furrowing her brows.

“Just some disruptive children. They should leave sooner or later.” Camila replied, shrugging. Mista’s eyes widened comically.

God please no god please no.

He slowly turned his head around, only to be met with the sight of six blond children pressed up against the glass, hands and noses leaving little smears on the glass. Settimo was licking the glass.

Settimo- No. God kill me now.

To make it worse, now that he’d made eye contact with them he could hear a small muffled chorus of “Mistaaaaa.” coming from them. They all eagerly waved at him, grinning.

“Do you… Know them…?” Camila asked.

“T-They’re mine…”

“They’re what? Sorry I couldn’t hear you.”

“They’re my kids…”

“You have kids?! Wait- How many are there.” She craned her neck past him as Mista buried his face into his hands. “One, two, three, four, five, six- Six?! You have six kids?” Camila asked incredulously. Mista could only weakly nod in response.

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” 

“N-No…”

“This won’t work out.” Within an instant she stood up, with her purse, leaving a fifteen euro note on the table to pay for her meal. Mista only sighed into his hands before flagging down the waiter, sadly paying and tipping him before standing up and leaving with a disheartened look on his face.

The second he stepped out the door he was immediately swarmed by the kids, with Abbachio and Narancia racing after.

He was honestly zoning out the whole time that it was happening, words blending into each other as Narancia frantically tried to explain himself to Mista. He would later learn that Abbacchio had fallen asleep at some point, and when Narancia’s back was turned away for no more than 10 minutes, the kids had managed to sneak out of the house. They had quickly tracked down where Mista was having his date.

Mista almost cried. Almost.

“B-but she was so beautiful Giogio.” The gunman sobbed.

“I’m aware. You’ve said that already Guido.” Giorno curtly replied, taking another sip of his drink.

“Why did  those little shits have to come along- No! They’re my kids and I love them! But they’re little shi-hi-hitsssss…” Giorno and Mista had agreed to meet at a bar, with Bruno agreeing to babysit the kids this time around (I wonder why). Mista was currently crying into his hands after his third shot, all drinks covered by Giorno (Though he opted to not go beyond a shot and a single full drink despite being able to hold his liquor scarily well).

Mista sniffed, most definitely tipsy at minimum, and full on drunk at maximum. Giorno was wagering that he was somewhere in between at this point.

“I haven’t asked about you Giogio… How have you been…?” The gunsman asked between small sniffs.

“I recently resolved a dispute with my cousin. The one I mentioned to you recently?” Giorno replied curtly, folding his hands on the counter.

“Dragona…? Oh ya I follow her  on TikTok. She seems nice. What happened?”

I… Should’ve expected that actually. Giorno mentally sighed.

“No, their  brother. Jodio. The drug dealer I assaulted but got no actual legal repercussions due to the fact that I apparently gave him such a freight that he immediately dropped his charges against me?”

“Oh ya…”

Oh Guido…

“Let's get you home.” Giorno stood up, pushing his chair back in the process. The blond dug into his wallet, placing an almost excessive amount of cash on the counter, garnering a good deal of gaping stares from his fellow patrons.

“Thank you, keep any change as a tip.” The bartender (A handsome middle aged man) blinked at him with wide eyes for some moments before letting out an amused huff, shaking his head.

“C’mon Guido…” Giorno looped his arm under Mista's, dragging him up from the chair.

“Nooooooooo…” He protested in response, but didn’t try and fight back at Giorno as he was dragged out to the obscenely expensive car. Giorno only furrowed his brows.

“I’m calling an Uber… I just drank.” He mumbled, keeping Mista secure at his arm, pulling out his phone, calling an Uber in a few swift clicks. (Don’t drink and drive kids).

He ended up hauling Mista to his apartment about 20 minutes later, digging into the pockets of a delirious Mista who was mumbling something about “don’t touch me I have a girlfriend.” Giorno could only sigh as he pushed the door open, immediately getting pounced on by a child.

“Mister Giornooooooo!” Of course he recognized the child instantly. It was Quinto. He didn’t particularly approve of his best friend's naming metric of literally children but he couldn’t be quite so perturbed by it at this point.

Giorno dragged Mista to the couch, dumping him onto it, though being sure to avoid where Bruno was sitting with Primo and Settimo, accompanied by a book in hand.

“Papaaaaaa!” Terzo yelled in a piercing voice, slapping his father on the face with a small pudgy child hand.

Mista didn’t budge.

“Let’s not disturb him at the moment, Terzo. I’m sure he’ll be happy to talk to you tomorrow.” Bruno cut in, placing his hand on the child's shoulder.

“Ok!” Terzo skipped off immediately after, clearly not too affected by his uncle's decisive interjection.

“I’ll put him in bed. Are you alright with helping him tomorrow morning?” Bruno questioned looking up at Giorno.

He nodded, letting out a small breath.

“Ya. You should go home to Abbacchio. He’s probably fretting over your return already.” The blond replied calmly, scooping up Quinto with one arm. Bruno only let out an amused half smile as he stood up, glancing around the messy apartment one last time before approaching the exit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Giorno.”

“Bye uncle Brunoooo!” Quinto yelled from Giorno’s arms.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Quinto.” Bruno waved as he smiled and nodded, opening and closing the door behind him.