Work Text:
Her father is king. Her father is king and his dominion expands by the day, if not by the hour at times. But she is not a princess. Being a princess would imply inheritance, or perhaps importance is the better word for it. After all, princesses never inherit do they? They're usually only a burden or a means to an end for their fathers more often than not. There are some days, she thinks that's how her father looks at her, and it seems only sound to think that he must have some use for her. Trish is young, but she's not so naïve as to have missed what happens to those he doesn't find a use for. It may just be that he doesn't yet know what her use will be, just that she has one.
So, Trish Una is not a princess. If you ask her, she's not really anybody. Not to her father, at least. Then again, that might not be such a bad thing. She knows what happens to people her father has a use for, too.
***
“Trish.”
“Papà.”
She calls him that, but she wishes she meant it.
***
When she was little, she used to think he did it for her amusement, or to make her feel better. Her father was never really around and there were times that he would be gone for so long she worried she'd forget what he looked like or what his voice sounded like. To make matters worse, try as she might to see him off, she never did. She never actually saw him come back either.
In some ways, her father was more a ghost or legend than a man she knew. The person she knew instead was a boy named Doppio.
He left a lot, too, but Doppio always, always took the time to say goodbye to her. Trish would kiss his cheek and he'd tease her that she was responsible for all the freckles on his cheeks or that she needed to kiss the other so he wouldn't be uneven. Sometimes Trish would oblige him. Sometimes she'd say she'd give him that other kiss when he came back.
When she'd discover her father gone and Doppio there with her instead, she'd cling to Doppio and sob, getting snot and tears all over his shirt. It was never that she was upset to see Doppio so much as she was heartbroken that her father left without saying goodbye again. Doppio knew this and would promise her that her father would be back before she knew it. He'd tell her an idealized image of her father, one that was invincible and would never allow anything to part him from his daughter for good. Sometimes Trish believed this just as much as Doppio seemed to and she'd settle enough for him to start distracting her with games. But often, Doppio would start mimicking the sounds of a phone and begin frantically looking while she wiped her eyes and nose with her sleeves. He'd pick up anything and hold it to his ear like a telephone, and just like that it'd seem like he was talking to her father.
It was foolish and childish — she knew that it was even with as small as she was when she first understood what Boss meant in rough sort of way — but she'd press her ear to the other side of her toy, the shoe, a TV remote, or sandwich, and strain to try and hear the low tenor of her father's voice on the other end of the imaginary line.
***
Diavolo.
That's his name, her father's name.
She hates it. Sometimes she hates him, too.
***
Not all of her memories of her father in her childhood are simply his shadow. It's just difficult to trust that they are real and not just wishful thinking. But she remembers some. She remembers when she was still afraid of thunder, especially at night. She raced down the seemingly endless hallway as fast as her small feet could take her, bursting into her father's room. She didn't wait for invitation, she just buried herself under the blankets and as close to him as possible, not caring if he was angry for being woken up. She doesn't remember if he ever was, but she remembers he never said anything. He let her lay there with one arm over her so she could trace his tattoos with a small finger and not think about the storm that was raging outside.
She remembers she felt just as untouchable as her father as she fell asleep.
***
Her mother is dead.
Trish hadn't seen much of her in recent years, but couldn't exactly say the reason why. She'd think of her sometimes, miss her then, and then forget to think of something that could never be anywhere near as important.
She doesn't feel guilty now that her mother's gone for the time she didn't take to be with her, however. She's not sure if she's supposed to, or if by not, she's doing something her mother would prefer. Or maybe she's just trying to make her father proud by letting the loss roll off her like the rain on the umbrella being held over her head.
Everyone thinks he didn't come because they don't know what Trish does. They don't know that the boy named Doppio who never ages, who's standing right beside her and holding her hand, carries her father with him everywhere. Trish shivers, using her free hand to pull her jacket a little closer.
For the first time in her life, she wishes it was Diavolo beside her instead, but couldn't exactly say the reason why.
***
Trish doesn't remember when she figured it out. Sometimes, she's not even sure if there was actually a moment where she put two and two together, or if it was just the accumulation of evidence that clued her in eventually. But there came a point where she realized that Doppio and Diavolo weren't just different people. They were the same body.
She denied it, of course, but not for the reasons other people might deny that their father has two personalities inhabiting the same body. She only wanted to believe that they weren't quite so separate. Trish, however, had no answer as to why her father couldn't just be more like Doppio when he spoke to her, when he spent time with her. She just didn't want to believe the schism ran that deep, and that when Doppio spoke it really was her father telling her in warm, kind words that she was a good girl, smart and more beautiful than any other little girl he's ever seen. So, she fought like hell to hold onto that belief. Harder than she'd ever fought for anything in her life because not once had she ever had to.
But the evidence just wasn't there and Trish slowly realized a second truth: her father was always watching. At first it never made sense to her, but then she realized that Doppio was someone she saw outside the house. She never saw her father outside the walls of their home, not even when she would play out in the yard and glance at the windows, hopeful to catch the sight of him checking on her.
Doppio went where Diavolo could not, and that seemed strange because shouldn't a king be able to walk wherever he like in his kingdom?
She understood later.
***
"My name is Spice Girl."
"My name is Trish."
"Yeah, I know. I'm you, remember? Part of you, anyway."
"Oh."
Trish flushed. Spice Girl just told her that, but the polite reflexes of a nine year old took hold for a moment. She chewed on her lower lip nervously, looking at the opposite wall.
"I'm going to keep you safe."
Trish frowned, looking at the Stand again. Doppio keeps her safe. Her father keeps her safe.
"How?"
"You'll have to trust me," Spice Girl said. "But when you need me, I'll be right there."
Trish didn't like that answer, not really. It wasn't much to go off. But Spice Girl was nice. They'd been talking for a few minutes. Trish had screamed when she first saw her and Doppio came running like he always did when there was a problem, a serious look on his face that she swore looked more like Diavolo than Doppio and made her stomach drop. But Spice Girl was gone, just for those few moments Doppio was in her room, and Trish lied to him. By extension, she also lied to her father. Then Spice Girl showed herself again when Doppio was gone. They talked and she saw what Spice Girl could do.
"Okay," she said quietly at first. It was pretty neat what Spice Girl was capable of. Maybe they really could keep her safe.
Firmly, she repeated, "Okay."
She felt safe all on her own for once, and she kept that secret for two years until Doppio saw Spice Girl accidentally. Trish had to bite her lip so hard it almost started to bleed, trying to keep herself from begging him not to tell her father because she knew that even if Doppio were willing, he couldn’t protect her secret. Then it was just a matter of trying not to cry.
She doesn't really remember feeling safe again after that, not really.
***
There was a time where she wished he did business closer to home. She watched movies earlier than she probably should have, envisioning what it was like for him when he met with people, with underlings. She could see him sitting in a high back leather chair, a big desk in front of him with plush chairs on the other side for people to sit uncomfortably while they address him. But they only address him when he allows it. In her mind’s eye, Doppio is separate. He stands to the side just behind her father who rests his elbows on this desk, fingers steepled loosely in front of him. He leans forward, brow furrowed into a stern expression. She wanted to see him looking as cool and powerful as that in real life, not just in her head.
But it was all just fantasy as far as she knows, and she never caught glimpses or hushed words of business once in her life.
So, it catches her off-guard when he decides to conduct business at the dinner table. Even more so when it's with her.
He's figured out her use, told her of the plan. Potential traitors and other undesirables, the idealists, will be attracted to the prospect of getting their hands on the boss' daughter. Her mother's death serves as a perfect excuse as to why she might have "run away" from her father. All she would need to do is let herself be caught by a specific team that Diavolo would send down orders to bring her back to because he placed his full and willing trust in them. Or as far as they knew, that's what he's going to do.
“Yes, Papà,” she says softly, her stomach twisting in knots. She picks up her glass, but her lips are too tight to let any wine actually into her mouth. She's pretty sure it'd taste like ash if she did decide to try and drink it anyway.
She knows what her father does even if he doesn't let her be privy to any of the details usually. She's not an idiot. But Trish has never been close to any of it. Not once. And now he wants her to act as bait.
"You’ll be safe."
He's trying to be reassuring, but he doesn't realize that's exactly what she's worried about. Trish smiles, trying to keep the tightness of it.
"I know, Papà."
Diavolo smiles and Trish isn't sure if it’s because he's felt he's managed a job well done in reassuring his daughter or if he's reveling in his genius for calculated bloodshed.
***
Trish feels a hand on her arm, and stops on the way to the kitchen. She looks in the blue eyes of its owner. Giorno, wasn't it? Yeah, that seems right.
"You’ll be safe."
Trish rolls her eyes, taking her arm away rougher than strictly necessary as she now walks into the kitchen with her head held up even higher.
"Yeah, 'cause some grunt like you is gonna save me if I get into trouble, right? Do me a favor and try not to piss yourself when things start to get serious."
Giorno stands in the doorway as she opens up the fridge. She stares into it longer than necessary because she wants to tell all of them to just leave this house without her right now. Every step they get closer to Diavolo with her, the closer they are to their own certain deaths. If it even takes that much. She's not even certain whether or not her father is following them instead sometimes to clean up the mess that they can't quite manage to clean up on their own. But Giorno just follows her over near the fridge and she gives nothing away because she's not even sure if it'll help or if they'll even believe her in the first place.
"If I do, will you save me instead?"
Trish looks up because she's about to scream. It sounds so much like a joke, like he's not taking going up against her father anywhere near serious enough. Why won’t any of these boys realize what’s coming for them? Shouldn't Buccellati or Abbacchio understand the machinations of the gang well enough by now with their age and experience to know a trap when it's laid out in front of them? But even with the way Giorno says it, there's something in his eyes that says he's serious, too. Trish looks back into fridge and swipes a can of soda out of it, closing the fridge door. No one's ever looked at her like that before, like she might not be the one that needs protection or shelter.
"Not a chance," she says as she passes Giorno by, opening her drink. She looks over her shoulder at him, "I'll be too busy saving the one with the stupid hat, and the loud one. You're on your own."
Giorno smiles at her then and her stomach feels both at once like it's about to tear itself in two and like it's filled to the brim with butterflies.