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phantomdoofer · 4 months ago

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Tower Town, Chapter 21 - Lost and Found

Brando walked absent-mindedly out of the University building, holding his chin in his hand. He was deep in thought. What the old gnome had said had affected him deeply, more deeply than he had realized at first. To think that my family was so deeply tangled with all this. With Signore Peppino's. He'd always detested his father's family, not that there was much; he wasn't in contact with any of them. They were an insular, reclusive bunch. Let's be honest, they're terrible people.

It was one of the few things he appreciated about his father: he'd adopted his own father’s, and his father’s, disdain for the rest of their blood kin. After Bruno had disappeared, Brando had done some digging… and what he'd found appalled him. No wonder they wanted to break ties. Slavery, dirty trading, extortion, murder… the list of crimes had led on and on. Especially towards the other two Old Families of Italy, the Spaghettis and the Rossinis. The history between the Spaghettis and Tagliatelles had been especially cruel - the bitter rivalry, the backstabbing, the feuds… until finally a sort of terrible finale had occurred - the privateer Giovanni Spaghetti, known as “Bloodsauce,” had made it a personal crusade to wipe the Tagliatelles out… and for the most part, he'd succeeded. They had finally captured and executed Bloodsauce, but it was too late: the Tagliatelles’ company, the Mediterranean Trading Company, had collapsed, and the family had fallen into poverty.

The Spaghettis had finally gotten their revenge.

And now I work for one of them.

Brando felt no animosity towards his insegnante; in fact, he considered him a friend. Good thing I don't feel like holding a grudge.

And now it was even deeper: his ancestor, Gordo, had been a hero, and the three Founders had been friends, fighting together against this terrible Pizzamancer. Brando looked down at his hands, turning them over. Do I really have some sort of power, lying dormant?

He shook his head. I don't have time for such thoughts now. I have to check on Mama.

He stood straight, walking briskly to his motorbike.

~~~~

Fake crouched on the rooftop, shadowing the young man below. They'd been doing this for days now - watching their son in the only way they could. Even now, they were conflicted.

We should tell him.

No! He would reject us!

Are we so sure? He's an intelligent young man. He would understand.

After the way we treated him? We deserve to be rejected.

But it's dangerous! We could protect him better by his side!

No. Better to stay hidden.

Ribbit.

As Brando revved up his bike, Fake willed themselves to blend in. It was a new trick they'd learned - apparently one of their parts had possessed camouflage capabilities. He quickly climbed down the side of the wall, watching Brando speed away.

Fake leapt, keeping up with the motorbike easily.

We may not be able to stay by your side, figlio, but we can watch from the wings.

~~~~

Brando quickly locked his bike to the rack outside their apartment building, and slipped inside. The building owner watched pensively; it was getting late, and monsters sometimes prowled the streets. “Did you see anything out there, Brando?”

He shook his head. “They're usually not so bold as to roam the streets in daylight, Signore. But I understand.”

The man shuddered. “I'm afraid to even leave these days. Can't the government do something about these fiends??”

Brando walked over and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. “I can say with confidence that people are working on a solution, Signore.”

The man seemed to relax, but he narrowed his eyes. “How do you know, Mr. Tagliatelle?”

Brando smiled. “I have heard rumors, amico, nothing more. But I don't think the powers that be will tolerate this reign of terror much longer.”

The man smiled back. “It comforts me to hear you say that, young man.” He chuckled. “Still don't think I'll be going out much anytime soon.”

Brando laughed. “I don't blame you, Signore. Is everyone in?”

The man nodded. “You were the last, young man. I'll be locking up now.” He slowly walked over to the doors, locking them and pulling down a gate.

Brando was intrigued. “When did you install that?”

The man laughed. “I didn't. It was here when I bought the building, a leftover from the Great War, twenty and more years ago.” He shuddered. “Terrible times, lad, terrible times. So many died.” His gaze grew far-away, misty. “I can remember so many that were lost.”

Brando felt his heart sink. We were the lucky ones. “I believe my current employers are veterans of that war.”

The man turned. “If that's true, lad, then they have seen horrors beyond our imagining.”

“Did you fight, as well, Signore?” Brando asked.

The man shook his head. “I was already too old, lad. But… I saw the news feeds, heard the rumors.” He shivered again. “I can't remember much anymore, but the images of what those damned Demons did will haunt me ‘til my dying day.”

Do I dare ask Signore Peppino and Gustavo about it? Or Signore Giuseppe and Signora Anita? “Yes, sir. Well, I should get up to Mama. Have a good night!”

The man sat down, ratcheting a shotgun with shivering hands. “Make sure to announce yourself if you come down here, lad. Don't want to shoot you by mistake.”

Brando nodded. “Of course, signore. I hope you have a peaceful night.” He trotted up the steps, his mind whirling. So much death and sorrow has been visited upon this world already. And this horrible person, this… Pizzamancer… wants to add to it. He stopped. If I do have some sort of… power… I should do what I can to stop it. Though no one had outright told him, the others had implied that the Pizzamancer had done horrible things in the Pizza Tower. Indeed, what he did to that Paolo fellow alone is bad enough. His own descendant…

Brando shook his head, trying to clear it. Mama is enough of a problem as it is. Her delusions had begun to slip into outright dementia, and Brando was finding himself overwhelmed on occasion. His neighbors had begun staying with her when he was gone.

As he opened the door, an elderly woman stood up. “Oh, Brando, there you are! I was getting worried!”

Brando waved his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I'm sorry Mrs. Toledo, the meeting I was called to led to some… things I had to work out.” He walked over to the couch, where his mother sat. “Mama, I'm home.”

His mother turned to him with a look of only vague recognition. “Oh, B, Brando. Where has your father gone?”

“He's out working, Mama,” he lied, “he said he might not be home tonight.”

She nodded. “Always working hard, my Bruno,” she said, smiling. “I hope you appreciate all the work he's doing to leave you a legacy, my…” she paused. “My… son?”

Brando nodded, trying to keep the sadness off his face. “Sì, Mama. I know.” He turned to Mrs. Toledo. “Has she eaten?”

The elderly woman nodded. “Sì, it took some persuasion, but she did.” The woman put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. “I'll be back tomorrow, Mona.”

Brando’s mother looked at her and smiled vaguely. “Thank you, Elanor."

Brando escorted the other woman outside, who turned to him. “She’s getting worse quickly, young man. We're happy to help, but…”

Brando sighed. “I know, I know. Soon enough she will be more than any of us can handle.” He'd been quietly looking at options for elderly care, but his mother, while not young, was not considered truly old, so state services were reluctant to help. “I just… this place is the last familiar place she has. To take her away from that…”

The old woman put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Chavo, soon she won't even remember her own name.” She sighed. “You should not have to sacrifice your entire life like that. Though it does you credit that you care so. Many don't bother.” She looked at the door. “Mona Bianca has been my friend since before she met your father. Little is left of her now but vague memories.” She smiled, weakly. “Cherish what time you have left, because I doubt you have much.”

Brando shuddered. He'd known Elanor Toledo his entire life. She had always been kind, but blunt. “I… I appreciate your help, Signora. I hope you know that.”

Elanor smiled. “Of course, Chavo. If you need our help, just ask.” She turned and started down the hallway. “Buenos noches, Brando.”

Brando watched the old woman totter away. He was taking deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. For years now, he'd resented his mother - her barbs, her constantly comparing everything he did to his father, her arrogance. But now, broken, fading husk though she was…

I don't want to lose her.

~~~~

Brando grumbled as he felt something gently poking at his face.

“Gnrrrm. Go ‘way. Still nigh’,” he mumbled.

He heard the grumble and smelled the faint scent of spices. Mama's pet Sausage? He opened his eyes - the little salsiccia was staring at him with the most concerned look he'd ever seen on it before.

He threw back the covers and stood. If a Sausage of all things looks worried, it's probably something I should be concerned about.

The little Toppin squeaked, hopped up and down a couple of times, then ran out of his room.

As he followed into the living area, he noticed the light in his mother's bedroom was on. She'd begun having problems sleeping at night - he'd heard it was a common problem in dementia sufferers. He poked his head in…

She's not here.

His blood turned to ice.

Quickly he ran to the bathroom - she wasn't there. The couch? Nothing. Full-blown panic began to set in… then he turned to the front door…

The door was just barely ajar.

His heart stopped. It's the middle of the night! There might be monsters out and about!

Quickly he grabbed his keys and dashed out into the hallway. He turned, gesturing to the Toppin. “Come on, come on, salsiccia! We have to find her!”

As the two dashed away, Brando's phone sat, blinking in the darkness, forgotten…

~~~~

Fake stirred as the wind shifted. They sat up, forcing themselves to awareness. The cool of the night put us into a torpor. They shook themselves - they had not been sleeping the last few days, anxious to keep an eye on Brando and his mother. We thought we could go without. Guess not. They checked to make sure their camouflage was still active - they had been crouched on the tiny balcony outside the apartment’s window. Ornamental, barely big enough for a few plants, it was inaccessible from anywhere but inside the apartment. Or by someone who can climb down the wall. They had thought they were so clever, hiding there.

Fake heard a clamour inside the apartment - someone was up and about. They checked the time. At this time of night? They peered inside…

Brando was dashing from room to room, looking more and more panicked with each pass. What has him so upset?

Then they saw Brando open the front door, then dash back in for his keys. Closing the door, they heard Brando hiss - “Come on, come on, salsiccia! We have to find her!”

As the door closed, Fake felt alarm rising in all their parts. Find her? But only one had a name in mind.

Mona?

Quickly Fake climbed, spider-like, across the wall, peering into the bedroom window.

The woman was nowhere to be seen.

The part of Fake that was Bruno was in full panic. She's not well! She's in danger! There's monsters around! They paused. Besides us, we mean.

Immediately they split into five parts, each part of them taking control.

The one with blue eyes grabbed the one with pink ones, who was fidgeting anxiously. “Be calm. We must find her. We must keep a clear head.”

The pink-eyed one nodded. “We know, but… Brando is out, as well! We must protect him, too!”

The purple-eyed one nodded. “Less talk. We find them.”

The five scurried off into the night.

~~~~

Brando frantically peered into alleyways, doorwells, anywhere his mother might have stopped. She's so weak, she can't have gotten far!

Meanwhile, Sausage was making an unerring line towards the ruins of Bruno's. Brando wondered at that. How did she get away without Sausage knowing? He shook his head. That doesn't matter. We have to find her!

Strange grumbles and warbles echoed through the streets - the Pizzamancer's minions, watching for stragglers, the foolhardy, the lost. In recent days, they had become a nighttime horror. Anyone found outside was usually in pieces - or simply vanished.

Brando began to realize that he'd left home without anything even vaguely resembling a form of self-protection. He looked down at the Toppin. “I'm counting on you to keep us out of the way of any mostri, little salsiccia.”

Sausage paused, looking back, and nodded.

~~~~

Fake crawled hurriedly across a rooftop, peering over the side the entire time. While divided, the different parts of him could vaguely sense each other. They were carefully canvassing the area, but as one being acknowledged that they might be looking in the entirely wrong direction. They could slip under us and we might never know it.

The night echoed with strange warbles and cries. The Pizzamancer's monsters are active tonight. Merda. They couldn't risk speeding up. Haste could spell doom.

There was a sudden spike in tension, and Fake stopped. One of their other selves had encountered a monster.

Before they could change course, they felt their other self assume their combat form. An inhuman shriek echoed through the night, and the tension dropped.

A sense of satisfaction and fullness radiated.

Whatever it was, it will harm no one else. And we've had a snack.

They hopped across to the next rooftop.

~~~

Brando heard the chilling cry in the distance, and felt his gorge rise. Some poor soul meeting their end for their foolishness? Please, god, let it not be Mama… he was trying not to cry - though he and his mother fought constantly, the thought of her coming to harm filled him with panic and dread.

Sausage moved erratically, but away from the cry.

That's some comfort, I guess. Once bonded, a Toppin could find their bonded person almost anywhere.

Ahead, he heard a terrifying roar, and a small, quiet whimper. One he recognized.

Mama!!

Sausage jumped into the air, its eyes wide, squeaked loudly, and bolted in the direction of the growling.

Brando ran behind.

~~~~

Fake felt the growl more than heard it, their doughy body reverberating. Like thunder in the distance.

Then, they heard a squeak and the sound of hurried footsteps.

That sounded like a Sausage. Is Mona's Toppin companion not a Sausage?

Fake conferred with all their parts, trying to triangulate the location of their quarry.

Then a bloodthirsty howl sounded, and a familiar voice cried out in terror and rage.

BRANDO!

All five Fakes converged on the sound.

~~~~

Brando rushed towards the alleyway he'd heard his mother cry out from… and found even his nightmares wouldn't have prepared him. The creature bore a vaguely humanoid form - Brando thought it might be patterned after the Noise - but the resemblance was very faint. Its arms had far too many joints - and neither had the same number. Long, insectile appendages sprouted randomly from its body. Instead of one eye, each socket bore a multitude of strange, jewel-like eyes that each seemed to have three pupils. Its flesh absolutely reeked - it smelled of sewage and gunpowder. Instead of legs, it tottered around on blade-like extensions that clicked like bone on the stone. Where the Noise's eponymous mustaches would be, a mass of tentacles sprouted, writhing and curling.

The fact that its open maw bore only one square tooth just made it worse.

The noise that came out of its mouth sounded far too much like the Noise's most malicious chuckle. Its bone-legs clicked as it took a step towards -

Brando's mother cowered at the end of the alleyway, wrapped in her night robe. Her normally-immaculate mascara had run with untold tears. She was whimpering; she was too terrified to scream.

“MAMA!” Brando bellowed.

His terror lent him speed beyond what he could normally manage.

He stood between them, screaming defiantly at the monster, who looked confused.

~~~~

All five Fakes heard the scream of defiance.

Faster, faster!!

~~~~

Behind him, Brando heard his mother wailing. “NO! Brando, corri! Scappa! Ti ucciderà!”

Brando didn't move. In the back of his mind, he was gibbering in sheer terror, but something deeper was at the forefront now.

“NON TI PERMETTERÒ DI FARLE DEL MALE, MOSTRO!”

The beast reared back a fist. Brando smelled gunpowder, and the fist started smoking.

He crossed his arms in front of him -

~~~~

All five Fakes felt the reverberation of the explosion almost simultaneously, and they saw a plume of flame, smoke, and debris fly up from a nearby alley.

Brando!! Mona!!!

As one, they hopped towards the explosion.

~~~~

Brando couldn't see - smoke and debris flew around him. His clothes were on fire - where they hadn't been blown away.

That should have killed me! Why - HOW am I still alive?

Then he remembered the words of the old gnome, echoing in the back of his mind:

Gordo’s power was incredible toughness - I saw him take fire blasts and lasers to the face and laugh. That was a strong power. I bet, even if it's dormant, it's still there.

He looked behind him - his mother was reaching out for him. “Brando… how-?”

A whoosh in front of him drew his attention back forward - he saw the monster's fist, emerge from the smoke, swinging back at him.

He braced for the impact.

Another detonation went off, and while the wind blew past him, stirring up dust and debris, he stood firm, unharmed. He felt the cloth of his shirt blow away, but his skin was unblemished.

An astounded laugh burst out of his mouth.

The monster's face loomed in front of him, glaring in wild-eyed rage.

Brando felt a surge of confidence and braggadocio boil up inside him. He assumed a primal stance and laughed.

“AVANTI, BRUTTO BASTARDO! NON PUOI FARMI DEL MALE! E TI FARÒ A BRUTTI SE TANTO VI AVVICINATE A NOI!” he bellowed, feeling better than he had in his entire life.

The creature raised another fist -

A warbling, croaking screech drew both combatants' attention upward. Brando saw five figures come together above, fusing into one, which expanded into a massive, froglike form.

Fake!

The doughy clone assumed their combat form in midair, their croak descending rapidly into a terrifying basso profundo roar as they fell.

The creature shrieked as Fake's enormous maw enveloped it.

Fake tossed the creature into the air, reaching up with their arms, ripping the flailing beast to shreds in the air.

Its enraged shrieks turned into terrified wails as it fell back into Fake's open mouth…

The giant clone gulped loudly as they swallowed the beast.

Brando, his adrenaline too high to be terrified, ran back to his mother, who was incoherent with fright. “Mama! Mama! Per favore, calmati! It's all right!”

She was so terrified she switched entirely to Italian. “Scappa! Allontanati da noi, mostro!”

Fake shrank down to their normal size, belching out a cloud of smoke and grimacing. “Gleh. What annn awful flavorr.” They turned to Brando and Mona. “Are you all right, Brando?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered, “but… how did you know to find us?”

“We will have to explain later.” They noticed Mona's discomfiture, and walked up slowly. She cringed, but didn't scream.

“We are a friend of yourrr son's. We mean you no harrrm. We are strange, we know, but we are here to protect you.” They looked at Brando. “Though it looks as if our guardianship may have been unnecessary.” They grinned… and on Fake, a grin was grinned from ear to ear. They held out a loopy arm, their hand palm up, towards the elderly woman. “Signora, mi dispiace di averla spaventata. Posso accompagnarti a casa?”

The voice sounded oddly formal and smooth, especially for Fake. Brando was even more surprised when his mother gingerly reached out a hand and took the clone 's hand. She had a faraway, misty look in her eyes. “Grazie signore, per la sua gentilezza. Certo, se fossi così gentile,” She said, smiling faintly.

As Fake helped her up, Brando stared at the clone. “Fake? When did you learn Italian?”

Fake tried to not let their panic show. Merda! We forgot! “We picked it up from Peppino, Giuseppe, and Gustavo. Did it sound okayyy?”

Brando nodded, but looked wary.

Fake shrugged. “We still do not have all our memories,” they lied, “perhaps one of our previous selves knew Italian.”

Finally, Brando shrugged. “Probabilmente.” He held up an arm - he was bare-chested, his shirt completely blown away, and his pants were shredded. “We should get home, regardless. Mama needs to settle, and I'm un po' esposto.”

Fake nodded, and picked up the older woman.

Mona giggled strangely. “Why sir, how kind of you.”

Fake carefully kept their expression neutral. “The least weeee could do, ma'am.”

~~~~

Brando quietly closed the door to his mother's bedroom, looking pensive. He looked at Fake; the clone was sitting on the couch. Despite their goopy nature, the couch was pristine. No stains or stickiness.

“How is she doing?” Fake asked quietly.

“I believe she's sleeping now,” Brando replied. “She had gone to look for my father, apparently. She had completely forgotten about the monsters.” He sat down in the recliner - the rough texture on his back reminded him he needed to put on some clothing. He waved a hand irritability. I'm in my own home, who cares? “She snuck out through a fire exit. Apparently she and my father-” the word automatically took on a harsh, hateful tone, “-used to do it whenever they wanted.”

Fake fidgeted. To be so close to his family, and the venomous tone Brando used to describe his father - me/us - was making them uncomfortable. “She is lucky to be alive.”

“And I think even she realizes that,” Brando growled. “I'd like to think she wouldn't try to sneak out again, but…” he sighed. “I'll have to be more careful.” He glanced up at Fake. “Thank you, by the way. For saving us.”

“Fake nodded. “You'rrre welcome.”

“However…” Brando continued, “why were you here?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Many of us who are… not defenseless… decided to watch over those that are,” Fake said. It's the truth, after all. “Peppino is staying with Gustavvvo, Giuseppe with their mother. I volunteerrred to watch over you.” They looked down.

“So why didn't you reveal yourselves to us?” Brando asked.

“We are a monster,” Fake muttered. It was close enough to the truth, after all. “We did not wish to alarm your mother.”

“And yet,” Brando mused, “she wasn't afraid of you. In fact, she took right to you. As if she knew you, somehow.” He narrowed his eyes. “Mother has never been the easiest to befriend, Mrs. Toledo notwithstanding. Your appearance alone should have terrified her.”

Fake fought not to panic. He's too close to the truth! “Weeee do not know. There is still much about ourselves we do not understand. That we may never know. We arrrre just glad that we could help.”

Brando stared, then nodded. “Abbastanza giusto, suppongo.” He sat back, staring into the distance. “Now, the other thing. I suppose this… incident proves that I inherited Gordo's power, does it not?” He picked at the hairs on his chest. “Not a scratch or burn to my body… but my poor clothes!”

Fake nodded. “It does match what the gnnnnome said. It is activated by emotion, yes?”

Brando nodded. “In that moment, all I felt was rage and confidence. I knew I had to protect her.” He grinned. “And I did. I did. It hit me with…” he stopped. “Why did its punch explode?”

Fake shrugged. “The Pizzamancer seems to have patterrrred his monsters upon those of us who were bosses in the olllld Tower. That one looked like the Noise. He loves bommmmbs. The Pizzamancer seemmmms to have quite the sick sense of humorrrr.”

Brando nodded. “Infatti.” Then he smiled. “It's good, though! I can help! I can join all of you on this quest to stop him!”

Fake felt the panic rise in their mind. Their heart would have clenched, if they still had one. “Are you sure that's wise? You have the powerrrr, yes, but can you contrrrrol it? You should not risk yourrrr life soooo much,” he paused - I was about to call him figlio! - “young mannnn.”

Brando shook his head. “All this time, I have felt like I had no purpose in life, other than to follow in my father's footsteps. To be nothing more than his legacy.” He grinned. “But now… now I can be more! I can help!” He stood, clenching his fists. “I want to help.” He looked down, his eyes pleading. “You can't stop me.”

Fake felt a surge of grief. Oh, figlio Mio, how much we hurt you. Then a burst of pride, as well. You've already grown past it, though. “No- no, we cannot,” Fake conceded, “but we can advise. Remember, this will be incredibly dangerous. The Pizzamancer has shown no mercy, and from what we have been told, he is ruthless, heartless, and sadistic. We may not come back alive.”

Brando's face fell, and they sat back down. “That's true, I suppose.” Then his face grew hard. “But we face that regardless. Death, or a lifetime of fear and oppression.” He slapped his hands on the armrests. “I'm going to do it. Will you support me?”

It took everything they had for Fake's feelings not to show. “Verrry well. We will tell the others about this development, and recommend you join us. Be ready, young man, we don't know when the hour will come.” They stood, walking to the window.

Brando followed them. “I will.” He raised his hand as Fake opened the window. “One last thing.”

Fake paused, turning. “Yyyes?”

“Why don't you just use the door?”

Fake shook their head. “We are a monster, too. It feels… right."

“But I don't see you as a monster,” Brando said, smiling.

If only you knew the truth, Fake thought sadly. “Perhaps, in time. But for now, we will stay out of sight when we can. Good night, young Brando.” They slipped outside, closing the window, and climbed up, out of sight.

“Buonanotte, gentile Mostro,” Brando said. He walked back to the recliner, sitting down, staring at nothing.

He had a lot to consider.

~~~~

Peppino snorted as he woke. Someone was knocking on the door. Who would be knocking in the middle of the night? I hope it doesn't wake Gus… Scratching his head, he looked through the peephole…

He wrenched the door open. “Fake? Cosa fai qui, a quest'ora della notte?”

The clone looked upset. “Peppino, will you come with us? We need… we need to speak to someone.”

“Uh, OK,” Peppino muttered. “Come in -”

The clone looked absolutely hunted. “Per favore no! Dobbiamo stare fuori!” The clone looked more panicked than Peppino had ever seen.

“All-a right, all right! Calm-a down,” Peppino said in a harsh whisper, “I'll go with you.” He stepped outside, gently using the door behind him.

The clone quickly slithered over to the stairs to the roof, slipping through the door. Peppino followed, confused. What in the world has them so upset?

Reaching the roof, Peppino opened the door, and found Fake sitting near the edge, crouched in a position more reminiscent of their frog parts than a human. They were staring up at the moon, looking absolutely forlorn.

Peppino sat down next to him. “So, tell me, what is troubling you?”

Fake was silent for several moments, but finally, haltingly, they told the tale of the night's events - the monster, Brando's emergence… and the old woman's behavior. “We think… she recognized us. The part of us that was Bruno. And now… their face became a look of twisted anguish, “Brando wishes to join us. When we go after the Pizzamancer.”

Peppino felt his heart clench. He'd grown quite fond of the younger man. “He… could be useful, that's true, but…”

“...but he would be risking his life,” Fake finished. “We… we don't want him to. Should we… should we discourage him?” Fake looked Peppino in the eyes.

Peppino saw the conflicting emotions there. He's afraid for his son.

Fake looked back at the moon. “We do not know how to handle this. We were… never good at admitting our true feelings. Not even… not even to Mona.” They held their face in their hands. “We call ourselves a monster now, but - what kind of beast were we? We were more monster then than now! And now - now…” they looked up. “We do not want to lose them.”

Peppino nodded. “I think… I think we have to leave the decision to him, though. He is a grown man. It's his life to live.”

“But… our son…” Goopy tears welled up in their eyes.

Peppino patted the being's shoulder. “Ah, I have no experience in this, amico. I mean, when it-a comes to being a father… I barely even knew my own. I don't-a know how you should-a respond. But I do-a think… he has-a to make his own decisions.”

Fake sniffed and wiped their long nose. “Perhaps. But we are still afraid for him.”

Peppino smiled. “That seems to be how real-a parents work.”

Fake paused. “Peppino?”

“Sì?”

“You called us ‘amico’.”

Peppino paused. “We did - I mean, I did, didn't I?” He grinned. “I suppose working together has-a changed how I see you. And you are not the terrifying mostro you were.”

“We… we have a friend?” Fake stared off into nothing, their eyes welling up.

Peppino chuckled. “I-a think you have more than-a you realize.” He put a hand on the being's shoulder. “You aren't alone, Fake. You have us.”

Fake's face wobbled like jelly for a moment, then the being burst out bawling, wrapping their arms repeatedly around Peppino. Their voice bounced between human wails and oddly anguished croaking. Peppino, bemused, hugged them back.

“You're-a not alone, Fake.”

The being poured out their grief into the night.

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