Jojo's Bizarre Adventure One Shots

|6 Feet Under|Passione

Get ready for tears. I- I swear part 5 was the most heartbreaking one of them all. I wrote this to I guess honour their deaths. But Narancia, our little orange bean. . .his death was the most heartbreaking. 

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Giorno softly placed the boy on the boat. They had won. Diavolo defeated, but at the sacrifice of three of his teammates. Abbacchio. Bucciarati. Narancia. Abbacchio was buried back in the beach of Sardinia. Bucciarati's lifeless body lay beside Narancia's. "They wouldn't like it inside there," Giorno said to the surviving members. Trish. Mista. "They always wanted to do their part. They couldn't be in the action if they stayed in the turtle. Let them enjoy the ride."

Mista nor Trish interjected, so they sat beside Narancia and Bucciarati's laying bodies, looking out at the ocean before them, as their newfound leader drove the small boat home. 

~~~

"No, Giorno. He left us. He shouldn't come!" Mista argues. Giorno shakes his head. 
"He was your teammate once. All of your teammate. He would want to see them off. He probably has no idea they're even gone," Giorno responds. 
"And he can stay clueless about that! He doesn't deserve to come!" 
"Mista. . ." Giorno puts his hand on his friends shoulder. Drops poor out of his orbs, like waterfalls. He falls onto Giorno, who catches him and cries. He doesn't care about not looking strong now. His best friends were all gone. Every single one of Team Bucciarati, gone. Even Fugo. Even though he was alive, he left his team, and he didn't know if he could ever forgive Fugo for that. Giorno wraps his arms around Mista. Trish decides to join in on comforting Mista. She needed the comfort herself. Even though she didn't know these men well, she had formed a bond with Narancia, looked up to Bucciarati. The men who gave up their life protecting her. She was forever in their debt. 

"Trish, look after him," Giorno ordered. 
"What? Where are you going?" she asks. Mista knew exactly. 
"How will you know he'll even be there?" Mista asked. 
"I don't," Giorno says and walks away. 

Libeccio's. The restaurant Giorno met Team Bucciarati. Before he got them into this mess. But he couldn't regret it, no. They knew the risks. He just wishes it ended a little differently. With a bouncy Narancia still here. Bucciarati's warm smile. Abbacchio's presence. He sighs and walks in. Just as he hypothesized, there the boy, just one year older than him sat. He was alone in a table that could fit 6. He stared off into the distance, not in the present reality. There was no alcohol in sight, only a teapot. And then he spotted the golden boy. Giorno. Fugo rose in consciousness. His gaze never leaving Giorno's as the golden boy approached. 

"Fugo," he says. 
"G-Giorno? What-" He looks around. "What are you doing here? Where are the others?"
Giorno shakes his head. "They're not here. But I can take you to them."
Fugo leans back in his chair. "I don't think they'd want to see me."
"Well, Mista sure doesn't. But I think the rest would like it if you said your last goodbyes."
"Goodbyes? What do you-" Realization hits Fugo like a brick to the face. "You don't mean. . .?" Giorno doesn't have to answer. Fugo knows. Not all of his team member made it. "Who was it? Who's. . .gone. . .? Please tell me."
"Abbacchio. He was the first one." Abbacchio and Fugo weren't the closest but his heart sunk. "No, actually, Bucciarati was the first one." Fugo goes pale. His leader. Gone. The one man who took a chance on an arrogant, spoiled, young boy who lost everything. Except he didn't. 

"Bucciarati died when he met the boss the first time. In the tower, to deliver Trish. I just. . .I guess I gave him a few more days. His body slowly started shutting down." Fugo bit his lip hard to keep from the tears welling up in his eyes to drop. He should have been there with them. Seen them before their last moments on Earth. 
"Yes. I'll come with you. Narancia must not be taking this well at all. Even if he doesn't want to see me, even if he hates me right now, I can still be there for him now, right? Him and I didn't always see eye to eye, but he's my best friend." That's how Fugo tried to deal with his grief. To be there for the boy, Narancia. 
"That's the thing Fugo," Giorno starts as Fugo frantically stands up. Giorno sighs. It still pains him to think about Narancia. "Narancia's gone too."

Fugo became even paler. His eyes widened, his eyebrows knitted. He just stood there, staring at Giorno for a few moments. "Wha-what did you say?" 
Giorno's eyes watered up, but he quickly wiped them away. Fugo caught this, though. "Narancia's gone. No one can hurt him anymore." With this, Fugo ran out the restaurant at the speed of light and fell on his knees on the adjacent alley. He screamed. He screamed his heart out. Not Narancia. No. It can't be. Residents walked by and looked it bewilderment but paid not much attention. Giorno met Fugo outside. This time the tears were spilling.

Giorno was back at the cemetery with another, Fugo. Mista and Trish watched as the two boys approached. Mista looked at Fugo is disgust. Trish said a simple hello, in which Fugo responded. Behind Mista and Trish, two simple coffins lay with his teammates inside. They were ready to be placed down. "Why are there only two?" Fugo asks, no emotion showing in his voice. 
"We couldn't take Abbacchio with us at the time. He's in Sardinia," Giorno states. Fugo nods and clutches his aching chest. The four lone survivors stare at the non empty coffins for a good while, thoughts empty. It doesn't feel real. 

"Bucciarati really was a born leader huh? He took us all in when we were frail or in a hard position. There's no one else who could've saved us," Mista says. "And now, he's gone."
"Even in his final moments, he gave himself to help us," Giorno says. "And Abbacchio. He led us to our victory."
"Man Abbacchio hated you man," Mista says. "He may have been distant but he was well. . ."
"Our family," Fugo says. 
"Yeah."
"They gave their life for mine. There's no one greater in my eyes," Trish states.
"And Narancia. . ." Fugo trails off as his voice breaks. Even with Mista's indifference towards his former teammate, he walks over and puts a hand on his shoulder. They meet each others eyes and there Mista can see the sincerity, the regret, the pain. Of course he held a grudge. The boy betrayed them in their hour of need, but he still loved Fugo and so he let out a sigh, and gave him a small smile. Fugo placed his own hand on top of Mista's. 

"Narancia was gone too soon. His liveliness will forever have a place in our hearts. He was the soul of this team. He was. . ." Giorno trails off.
"No one could not like him but god, was he annoying," Mista says, snickering. 
"He probably would have made me burst an artery," Fugo confesses. The group laughs lightly knowing full well that could have taken place.
"He was fun to mess with," Mista says. "I was the one who ruined his speaker." It was a sad, light hearted moment. Narancia's death was hard to grasp. It was quiet without him, but it still felt like he was there with them.  

"I knew it!" a voice rang from the sky. The group looked around and saw a yellow cloud form. A cloud that looked like Narancia. "I knew you ruined my speaker! And you say I was the annoying one."
"Narancia?" Mista asks aloud. 
"In the flesh. Err I mean not really." Fugo stares at this boy shaped cloud, tears threatening to spill out. 
"Oi, Fugo, don't worry about me, okay? You saved me, but not from math." Fugo snickers. 
"Narancia, I'm sorry, I-"
"Nothing to be sorry about. Trish, I'm glad you're safe."
"Thank you," she says. 
"And Giorno and Mista, I uh. . .I guess I wish you two well. . .oh god the memories!" Giorno and Mista look at each other in confusion. "Take care guys. . .don't forget the torture dance! Aerosmith will haunt you if you do."

And as in a flicker, the cloud dispersed and ascended towards the heavens. "Did you all see that?" Trish asks.
Fugo smiles. "Narancia's okay. Like you said Giorno, no one can hurt him now."

The caskets lower under the ground. Dirt gets shovelled onto them. Fugo didn't want to open the casket, he'd rather the last memory of his two friends be lively ones. Abbacchio, Bucciarati, and Narancia may be six feet under, but they'll never leave Giorno, Mista's or Fugo's side. Forever intertwined by the vines of brotherhood.