God, that mission could have gone better. A lot better. 'It'll be routine' Buccellati had said, 'go in, do the job, get out. You probably won't even need your pistol.' Routine turned into a shoot-out halfway through thanks to god-damned Luca. God, who even invited that asshole.
Right, his boss did.
His comrade had- after the fight ended- at least dropped him off at the emergency room with a weak alibi and weaker bribe. Fucking Luca. At least he called Abbachio who called Buccellati, who was now covering the gangs tracks at the hospital. It was a ritzy ass hospital too, compared to the shitty back alleyway underground clinics he was used to. Mista just wished he would stop bleeding though, as he was loaded up onto the stiff gurney. A lady came by who gave him a swift shot in the arm and hooked up a blood bag to the pole attached to the mobile cot before scurrying away. He would have been offended if he weren't so obviously a mafioso.
Or if whatever was in that syringe hadn't suddenly left him feeling really, really good.
He could climb a mountain right now.
After a nap.
A doctor came by as soon as his body turned into a limp noodle, quickly examining the two holes in his chest before calling for two others to move him somewhere. He was swiftly distracted by the sudden golden halo above his eyes. A guy, probably a nurse, was at the end of the gurney, partially leaning over his head wheeling him away. Mista was transfixed, his vision was kinda blurry but he saw gold hair, pale skin, and the light behind him made him look ethereal. He couldn't possibly be real.
Mista's eyes were wide as he slurred, "are you an angel?"
The blond figure looked down at him, seemingly startled he was still awake, before giving a soft smile. Oh god, Mista was dying. He was dying and there was a heavenly being here, waiting to take him somewhere. Probably not the pearly gates with his lifestyle choices. Not unless God was a fan of Pulp Fiction. Mista's eyelids were drooping, and the dulled wave of panic had him reaching a bloody hand back towards his angel, falling short as he mumbled gibberish. The cherubim above him said something the static in his ears couldn't parse out.
The gangster was unconscious as soon as his eyes closed.
Mista woke back up sometime later to the itch of gauze and surgical tape and a dull throbbing in his abdomen. The shuffle of paper beside him got his dazed attention. Buccellati was sitting in the standard issue chair next to the medical bed he was laid out on reading a newspaper.
"Two gunshot wounds to the chest, one missing a kidney by an inch, the other hit a rib, fracturing it. A graze along your right arm requiring 6 stitches, and minor lacerations on your elbows, wrists, and knees. You went through two blood bags, a saline drip, was stuck in surgery for a good 3 hours, and asked out your emergency nurse."
Oh, well that cleared up a few things. Mainly why he felt like shit. Wait, what was that last part?
Mista garbled out an approximation of "What'd I do?"
Talking was really hard at the moment. His face felt numb, and his jaw was all rubbery and wouldn't do what he wanted it to. Bruno for the most part, looked amused.
"You asked out the nurse as you were wheeled into surgery."
He did? Was it the angel-faced beauty? God he hoped so. Did he get a number?
"Before you ask, he left a name but not a number since he was working."
Damn, but a name was good! God, he was so excited- Bruno's face darkened,
"Mista, what happened back there?"
Oh right, the job.
"Uhh, Luca was talkin' shit and people were gettin' mad and I was tryin' to talk 'em down, but then he started makin' threats and next thing I know everyone was pullin' out their pieces, so of course we get into a shootout, and Luca ran off like a piss baby leavin' me to the wolves, if the wolves had guns."
Bruno was staring, bemused. He... must not be speaking as clearly as he thought he was.
"I'll have to get the details from you when you are more... sober. I asked Luca for his side of things and received a few contradictions. I'll take care of it though. You did well, regardless."
The door clicked open, a baby faced girl with bright green hair popped her face into the room.
"I've got some meds and dinner for you two."
The mention of medicine had Mista's stomach twinging in pain. It had been getting sharper, but now that he was aware of it, it was starting to hurt more than a little.
A painkiller, a few antibiotics, an 'uh oh, your bandages needed to be changed 20 minutes ago', a painful bandage change, and a sad hospital meal of some pre-cut sausage, bread, a very wilted salad, and the tiniest cup of pudding later found Mista drifting again.
Bruno got up, dusted himself off, and waved, "I'll send someone to collect you in the morning. Behave yourself in the meantime."
Mista raised a hand and attempted to return the wave. Settling back into the rather uncomfortable hospital bed, the gangster couldn't help his foggy brain from pulling up images of the angelic nurse from before. God he hoped he got to see him again.
"Wake up, bitch, we're getting you outta here."
Mista startled awake, then startled again at the twisted scowl of his teammates painted face.
Abbachio had gotten all dolled up to come and get him? Mista would have been flattered if only his brain could catch up. Those drugs were something else.
"Where we goin'?"
A condescending eyeroll, "out of the hospital, dumbass. I already checked in with the secretary, once a nurse comes by you're free to go."
"Oh, okay. So soon?"
Abbachio stared. A polite knock at the door caught the attention of the two, as the door cracked with a light "I'm coming in."
Mista froze, his outpatient nurse was none other than the blond from... yesterday? Or maybe the day before. Now that he was sobered up (mostly) he wanted to beat his past self up. The blond wasn't just a pretty possible angel; he was a beautiful fantasy pulled from ancient depictions of powerful cherubim. Like what you would see at an art gallery full of renaissance paintings, or the Sistine chapel. Mista was contemplating returning to the Catholic church, as the nurse made his way to the hospital bed.
Dropping off what looked to be a pile of the gangsters bloody clothes on a nearby table first, before turning with a "Guido Mista? You are ready to go?"
"Uh, yeah, that's me, yep, I'm ready for- to go."
A soft smile, "I'll need to check your bandages and stitches before we send you off. There's also some paperwork to file. Can you sit up?"
The gunman was enraptured. What a beautiful man. He missed everything he said.
"Sit up and get this over with, Mista. I'll take the paperwork. We've already been here for ages anyway."
Abbachio snapped, practically yanking the clipboard full of forms from the blond. There wasn't a pen attached. Irately huffing, the tall man held out a palm expectantly as the nurse reached into one of the pockets of his uniform. Pulling out a green and pink, heart and ladybug covered pen with a little plastic flower on the end.
"It's the only one I have, I'm afraid." Completely expressionless.
Abbachio looked murderous.
"Fine, whatever, just hurry up."
The blond moved to stand over Mista, "is it okay if I touch you?"
The blond could probably murder him and the gangster would be okay with it. Words failing, he nodded a bit too vigorously. The nurse gave him a light smile, hands pulling up the papery hospital issue shirt and gently feeling around the gauze pads of his wounds. Mista was cherry red, and trying very hard not to think inappropriate thoughts about the nice, hot guy just doing his job and currently feeling him up. At this angle though, he not only could see smooth collarbones, but also into the breast pocket of the guys uniform. It was full of plain pens.
Mista practically swooned. He was in love.
"Everything looks to be in order, but you'll need to keep any physical activity to a minimum, so you don't tear anything open, okay?"
Mista nodded again.
"I have your personal belongings with me too. The shirt you were wearing was ruined, so we disposed of it, but everything else is alright to take with you."
Oh wait, he wouldn't have a shirt? Abbachio sure as shit probably didn't bring one. Shit-
"I did bring a shirt from our abandoned goods collection with me that you can have, if you don't have one of your own. Hopefully it will fit."
Mista could cry, he was an actual angel.
"A prescription for painkillers and antibiotics were sent to the pharmacy already, so be sure to follow the attached guidelines for taking them. Come back if you have any issues, okay?"
Mista was doggedly nodding and humming affirmation as Abbachio scowled increasingly harder.
"Can we go now?"
"Yes-" glancing quickly over the clipboard, "this sheet is for you, but everything looks to be in order."
The blond grasped Mista's wrist, helping pull him into a wobbly stand. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. Guido Mista."
"Uh, I'll uh, try, thanks..."
"Thank you, Giorno, for every-"
"Alright, let's go."
Abbachio was pulling him out of the room, rather uncaring of his unsteady legs. Looking back and giving the blond, Giorno, one last wave before he was dragged away, forced into a bathroom to change, and then leveraged into one of the gangs vehicles. Was he ever going to see that angel again?