JJBA ONESHOTS

(Narancia-centric)Overworld Echoes

<MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR PT.5 CHARACTER DEATHS>

Description-

Something is odd. Buccellati and Abbacchio are acting strange. Narancia feels like he's forgetting something.

---

The bus is strangely silent. The scenery from outside the glass windows goes by faster than the wind, only hurling to a hard stop when the bus stops to let in another passenger. There are a few small quips of talking, when someone says 'Oh! I seem to have been waiting here forever for you to come!' but other than that, silence drapes over the vehicle like some kind of heavy curse.

In all honesty, Narancia thought it was too quiet.

He much preferred the loud and sometimes obnoxious chatter that emanated from Buccellati's squad on their off-time. He even wished Fugo was here; even if it was to help him with math.

(Huh? Fugo?)

Narancia suddenly felt like he wasn't remembering something.

It was also to hot. Shouldn't a bus have air conditioning? His clothes are sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

Anyway, Narancia was bored. For what seemed like hours, but might've been minutes—Narancia has been left with nothing to do but stare out the window, or attempt conversation with one of the other passengers. But, nobody gives more of an answer than, 'Okay.' And it's clear no one wants to talk, so Narancia is left to stew in his own boredom and hope that wherever he's going has good food.

It was about then that the bus hurled to a sudden stop. The intercom announced that they were in Roma. Nobody got off the bus; nobody ever did. Actually, Narancia found it a bit strange, why did nobody ever leave? Huh...well, he supposed they were all going to the stop he was going to. Unfortunately it'd be a bit till they got there. It was the last stop of the schedule after all.

(It feels like that should be significant.)

Once again, something nagged at the back of Narancia's mind...something...What was it?

Narancia decided it didn't matter when he saw Buccellati walk in with the crowd of other new arrivals from the stop at Roma. "Oiii! Buccellati!" Narancia stood up and called out, waving his arms around frantically.

The man in question snapped his head in Narancia's direction. "Narancia." Buccellati seems strangely out of energy. Had he not gotten enough sleep, again? Narancia knows Buccellati often stays up late. Fugo says it's bad for his health.

(Narancia can almost hear Fugo yelling at him to just go the fuck to sleep already.)

But, deciding it must just be his imagination (Fugo says he has an overactive imagination, Narancia isn't sure, but what would he know?) Narancia talks to Buccellati like everything is normal; in place just as it's supposed to be—maybe it is.

"Hey, Hey! Bucci?" Narancia starts.

"Yeah?" Buccellati responds.

"Where are we going again?"

Maybe this is what he wasn't remembering. However, even when Buccellati says they're going to the last stop, it doesn't fix the strange feeling in Narancia's gut.

-

When they arrive at the last stop, everyone pours out, all going separate ways, fading into doorways, or shops, most of them walk down the grey cobbled street and disappear into the distance. Narancia wonders where they're going.

It doesn't really matter though, because he and Buccellati are going to a lovely small café. When they arrive, Abbacchio is already waiting. He seems more pissed-off and moody than usual.

If the normal Abbacchio is like a house cat, moody, temperamental, and hissing at everything, then this Abbacchio is like a full-on bobcat; practically burning bitter holes through Buccellati and Narancia when they arrive.

"Hi Abba!" Narancia grins as he pulls himself into one of the small café chairs. Abbacchio snarls. Narancia pays it no mind; Abbacchio is always moody.

(What? Abbacchio? Something seemed wrong.)

That nagging feeling came clawing back to Narancia's mind. It was like he had the something on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach. Seriously, what was it? Maybe he forgot a mission or something, or needs to report on something.

It was something.

If it was hot in the bus than it was hotter outside. The sun seems to make Narancia's clothes stick more to his skin—and it's really, really uncomfortable.

And finally—"Hey, Narancia, Bruno." Abbacchio nods in a far-calmer way than Narancia imagined. Abbacchio sighed. "You couldn't just leave me to my peace here, huh. You just had to show up early." Abbacchio grumbled, and took a particularly large gulp from his cup of white wine.

(White?)

Since when was the wine Abbacchio drank...white? Come to think of it; the street seemed weirdly grey, even for a stone street. Actually, had Abbacchio always dressed in strictly black and white?

The thoughts are pushed from Narancia's mind when the fresh margarita pizza is brought to their table. The face-less waiter goes back inside the shop as fast as he had come.

The trio talks about pointless, random things. Abbacchio compliments the wine. Narancia asks Buccellati if he can teach him how to fish later, Buccellati replies that fishing is long, and hard, and—Narancia's mind begins to wander.

"Aha!" Narancia thinks of something. "When will Mista and Fugo be here?" He asks, tilting his head. No wonder it felt so strange. Fugo and Mista weren't here! There was no Mista freaking out over only four slices of pizza being left, and no Fugo freaking out over one thing or another.

"They..." Buccellati breaths. "Probably won't be here for a while."

"Oh." A frown forms on Narancia's lips. "Oh."

He needs to remember something. "Right, it's because they're guarding the boss's daughter, right?"

It's at this point that memories begin to shatter, and tip, and fragment. And suddenly Narancia is standing on nothing, because oh god it doesn't make any sense! "Wait, aren't we supposed to be guarding her, and...where is Trish anyway!? And the turtle! Buccellati, you have the turtle right!?"

A dark shadow covers Buccellati's eyes as he remains silent.

Another fragment falls into place . "Wait...The boss! What..."

It's as if Narancia is a ragdoll, when he collapses on his knees, like they're made of cotton, and he falls back, like his strings have been cut. Because oh god, oh god, it makes less sense than any math Fugo has ever tried to teach him.

Suddenly the sky is blue, and Abbacchio's clothes aren't black and white, they're a deep dark purple, and his wine isn't white—it's red. Red. Narancia looks down.

His clothe aren't sticky because its hot, and he's sweaty. They're sticky because they're soaked a deep crimson color, a color Narancia could recognize anywhere. It's the color that appears when Fugo stabs him with a fork, or when Aerosmith shoots somebody and crimson splatters dark on the alley walls.

It's blood.

Oh, oh. Narancia remembers now, and it all makes so much more sense now. His next line is less of a question, and more of a statement as it quietly escapes his cracked lips.

"Hey Buccellati, Abbacchio....we're dead, aren't we?"

---

What do you mean; no I'm definitely not still upset about Narancia's death. 

Also yeah that was last night's 1am word vomit. Hope you enjoyed.