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Chapter Text

Pinocchio stared at the food.

 The small table in the garden was filled with cakes, scones and sandwiches, with delicate little cups for both of them. Polendina poured them both tea and then took a few tactful steps to the side.

Pinocchio glared the cakes and then turned to Carlo with a pained expression in his usually emotionless face. Only then Carlo wondered if they should have started practicing meals with something simpler than afternoon tea.

“Calm down”, he told Pinocchio and folded the napkin neatly to his lap. Whatever Romeo said, he had manners. “They're just sandwiches. You eat them.”

“I don't eat”, Pinocchio protested and glared at the cucumber sandwich like it had offended him personally. Carlo saw him touch his sable and regretted again letting him keep it.

“Pino, it's a sandwich. It's already dead. And yes, you do eat. You're human now, remember?”

The puppet turned into a human glared at Carlo like he wanted to cancel the transformation or at least complain about it. “But I don't eat.”

“Yes you do”, Carlo said and picked one of the pastries. When Pinocchio opened his mouth to yet another complaint, Carlo pushed the pastry in. “Chew.”

Pinocchio obeyed reluctantly. Then his eyes widened and he swallowed before Carlo had to remind him. “Good.”

“I told you so”, Carlo said and picked up his teacup. “But have a sandwich before you try another one."

Chapter Text

It took a while before they figured out what to do with Pino.

It wasn't as easy as one could think. Pinocchio had been alive for a little over a month and most of that time he wandered around the town slaughtering puppets, humans and monsters. Even after Carlo took his powerful mechanical arm to himself (they replaced Pinocchio's with something little less…deathly) there was very little that actually could hold up against Geppetto’s Puppet.

This excluded most sports. Not that Pino was very eager to try those: Romeo tried to play football with him once but quit when the boy accidentally kicked his foot off. Sewing his boyfriend's leg back on and comforting his distressed little brother Carlo wondered, and not for the first time, if he should have just stayed dead.

Carlo taught Pinocchio to play piano which he liked, but there was a limit to how much one can practice (and listen) sonnets. Nothing lighter than piano was out of the question and Carlo refused to even consider getting drums. Venigni tried to coax Pinocchio into painting but Pino's paintings were quite…macabre.

Eventually Eugenie found the solution. If physical hobbies didn't fit Pino, they had to try some lighter ones.

Pinocchio was clearly doubtful when she introduced him to needle and thread, but eventually he tried it. And it worked: after sewing his first shirt, the former puppet finally started to smile. It was so adorable even Carlo didn't have a heart to tell him that nobody needed fifty shirts.

Chapter Text

It's late at night when Romeo came to find Carlo.

Pinocchio was already asleep. Turning into a human is rough, and a human heart couldn't’ hold as much as the mechanical one could. Pinocchio fell asleep every night almost right after dinner, usually holding Carlo’s hand.

Carlo  sensed rather than saw Romeo coming. The tall blonde boy walked behind him and dropped a kiss to his dark hair, hands resting on his shoulders. Carlo smiled but didn't take his eyes off sleeping Pinocchio.

Romeo sat down as lightly as one half made of metal could. “You should go to bed.”

Carlo shook his head. “He needs me. You know how he gets nightmares.”

“Well then”, Romeo said and stood up, “we can sleep here.”

He took Carlo’s hand and Carlo let himself be led to sit on the floor, his back against Romeo’s chest. Romeo was warm and strong, and it didn’t take long until his even breath lulled Carlo to sleep.

Chapter Text

P’s head is resting on Carlo's shoulder.

The boy's (Puppet's? Brother’s?) head is heavy and Carlo has lost any feeling in his arm ages ago, but he stays still. P is exhausted and if he can only sleep next to Carlo, so be it. It’s not like he has anything better to do, anyway.

P stirs a little, but doesn't wake up. Carlo reaches his hand and pulls his brother close, runs his hand through silver locks.

P was done to his likeness, his image, but resembles Carlo a little less every day. His hair is silver, Carlo's is dark brown. He has freckles, Carlo doesn't. P’s nose is a little bit longer, probably because of all that lying.

It's ironic, Carlo thinks and not for the first time, that while P was done to bring him back from the dead, it's now Carlo who exists for P and not the other way around. He doesn't need P for anything. On the contrary, he's always been glad that his rotten father never fathered more children he could abandon. 

But P needs Carlo. Without him the new human would get lost to himself, like a child who wanders too deep in the woods. P needs Carlo's guidance and protection, he needs Carlo's comforting words and gentle orders. He has a little brother now. And to make things more complicated, the brother used to be a puppet made to kill, only turned into a human because of a sudden twist of fate. 

It's a gift.

It's also a burden.

Chapter Text

Romeo and Carlo made a habit of training in the garden.

They were still adjusting to their new bodies, and sparring was a good way to let off steam. Bruises, scratches and sore muscles calmed them down, reminded them they were still human.

Pinocchio liked the garden too. He liked to sit on a bench next to the big oak tree and watch Romeo and Carlo train. He rarely joined them though: he was without question the best swordsman of them three, even without his legion arm, but he hated to spill blood. Constant fighting during his first weeks alive had built a distaste for death. 

Sometimes Carlo wondered how ironic it was that all this was new to P: the boy had been alive only a couple of months and most of that time he had slaughtered humans, monsters and puppets. There was no foe who had not fallen when Geppetto's puppet attacked, no monster whose blood he had not spilled. That was what he was made for, after all: to save Krat. 

But now Pinocchio sat on the bench, massaged his new arm and watched a fight he did not have to partake in. He was safe. And ward, not the protector.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time there was a selfish old man. 

The man only seemed to care about things he had once he lost them. He had a loving wife who he did not appreciate when she lived, but built her a beautiful monument once she passed away. He had lots of friends, but he only remembered them when they pulled away from him, hurt by his indifference towards them. 

And he had a son who yearned for his love, but who he only remembered when the boy died of horrible disease. 

The man was a creator, the best of best, and so he used his genius and grief to build himself a new son. A better one, one more obedient, one who loved his father but never demanded anything like the first son had. He basked in his father’s warmth when he could, but was content to stand in the shadows when it was required. He was, in every way, a perfect son. 

But even that was not enough for the puppet master. He had set his mind on getting his first born son back, and so he demanded his new son to give his heart to the old one. 

The boy refused. He fought for his life and won. But then, when he held his dying father in his arms, the old selfish man made his final wish:

“I wish for my son.”

And the stars listened, but not the way the man had thought. And so Pinocchio became a real boy.

This was the first part of the story, one Carlo had told several times. He told it to the people in hotel Krat, where he had dragged his brother during his first hour of being alive again. He told it to Pinocchio, who sometimes wanted to listen, sometimes not. He told it to himself every night, lying in bed and waiting for sleep that evaded him in any way possible. 

He told it to Romeo, whose soul Pinocchio had carried in his pocket for days after the battle, and who got a new body, courtesy to their new friend Venigni. And Romeo listened and nodded and then told Carlo to stop thinking about it, or he would lose the last shreds of his sanity. 

But the story didn’t end there, did it? It only explained how Pinocchio was alive, and with small detour, how Romeo was. It didn’t mention Carlo. 

It didn’t mention Pinocchio cradling his dead father in his arms, crying, pegging for someone, anyone, to help him, because he had never been alive before and it hurt- 

And it didn’t mention Carlo, whose father had made him into a gruesome puppet, getting up. It didn’t mention the gray color disappearing from his skin when his blood vessels started to work again, and pieces of metal falling off from his healed body. It didn’t mention ebony hair growing back to his bald head. And it didn’t mention him crouching down and picking up the boy he instinctively knew to be his little brother, and carrying him to the nearest Stargazer. 

Carlo didn’t like this part of the story, but it was the missing piece. It explained how and why he was there, why he had gotten a second chance. It was not because his father had wanted him back. It was because Pinocchio had wanted him back. And there he was now, ready to fulfill his purpose. 

And that was how he found himself in the dining hall, trying to feed the stubborn boy broccoli. 

Chapter Text

“Do I have to sleep every night?”

“Yes.”

“What are these?”

“Blisters. You have new shoes, it takes time to get used to them.”

“Can I kill that-”

“No."

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Does Romeo love me?”

“Yes, but in a different way than he loves me.”

“Did Sophia love me?”

“Maybe.”

“Did Father love me?”

“No. But he didn't love me either.”

“Do I like apples?”

“You have to decide that yourself.”

“Can I go see Venigni?”

“Why don't we go together? And don't believe anything he says.”

“Is Romeo angry I killed him?”

“No.”

“Do I have to kill people?”

“No. Never.”

“When do I have to kill monsters?”

“Hopefully never.”

"But when?"

"When I tell you so."

“Why did father bring Romeo back?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you love me?”

“Pino, we already talked about this.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Pinocchio learned was to feel.

That was something he could do before Carlo was brought back. He could feel different temperatures, liked hugs and hair ruffles and could feel pain. Carlo would have thought that after fighting countless monsters the puppet boy would not complain about burnt tongue, but was proven to be wrong the first time P tried coffee.

The next thing Pinocchio learned was to taste. He liked sweets and Carlo soon started to look for candy wrappers in his pockets. Everyone (except Venigni, a hopeless candyholic himself) tried to prove to him candy was unhealthy, but Pinocchio didn't believe anyone until he got his first cavity. Carlo doubted that the poor dentist could ever see P again without screaming.

Pinocchio saw and heard, of course, but didn't have a sense of smell. Not until one morning when he woke Carlo up and said anxiously that there was something wrong in the garden. 

Carlo grumbled but followed his brother out to the garden. There was nothing out of ordinary there, except a big bush full of white roses that were currently blooming. 

Pinocchio pointed at the roses. “That.”

It took a while before Carlo figured it out. “Pino, you're smelling the flowers. That's a good thing.”

Pinocchio scrunched his nose. “Smells bad. Like an old lady.”

Carlo stared at his brother. Then he laughed. “Okay, it smells like old woman's perfume. Let's find some better scents for you. Why don't we make pancakes for breakfast?”

The thought of pancakes cheered Pinocchio up and he followed Carlo happily inside. Unfortunately Carlo was not a great cook so before Romeo woke up P only learned the smell of smoke.

Chapter Text

Carlo wore his favorite white shirt.

It was actually Pino’s, but he didn't like it so it ended up with Carlo. Actually everything he had used to be Pino's. First his, then P’s, now his again.

It was rather simple, really: there had been Carlo, the real Carlo, and he had died. His father, struck with grief, had created Pinocchio and made him believe he was a replacement when in reality he was a vessel, destined to sacrifice himself for Carlo's soul.

But it hadn't worked. How could it? Pinocchio was no Carlo, never had been. They had stopped being one the second Pinocchio opened his eyes for the first time.

So Geppetto -that rotten little cockroach - had used his last wish to bring his son back. And that's how Pinocchio become a real boy.

Carlo still didn't know why Pinocchio had used his wish to bring him back instead of their father but believed he knew. Pinocchio had needed somebody to help him and whoever had listened to his wish had known Geppetto was not up to it. He would have turned his back to Pinocchio the second he had a back to turn.

But what did it matter anymore? They were all alive. Pinocchio was a real boy, though reluctantly. Romeo was still half a human, half a puppet but a least he breathed-

“Carlo.”

And they were alive-

“Carlo, you're breathing too fast.”

Chapter Text

P wakes up to the feeling of change.

He knows something is going to happen, even though he doesn’t know why. It’s the same kind of feeling he had when he returned to the hotel after Antonia had died. He noticed the subtle change, an emptiness of sorts, before Polendina even told him the news. 

The same kind of feeling was present in the Garden of the Gold Coin Tree when he first went there after father’s death. Before he even stepped to the shabby building, he knew that Giangio was gone. And the same thing lingered in the air the few times he went to the Opera House after defeating Romeo. 

Something is changing. Something is missing.

P gets up and dresses quickly, lamenting the fact that as a human he no longer can walk around in the same clothes for days. Carlo says it’s gross, says it was gross even when he was a puppet, and that he needs to learn to change socks every day.

Carlo.

P leaves the room too fast to hear Gemini’s worried call. He rushes to the lobby and sees-

Carlo, talking calmly with Venigni. They’re standing in front of Venigni’s alcove, gesturing towards something.

Well, former alcove. Everything in there is packed in brown paper and tied up with rope, even the plaque that used to hang on the wall. The place is empty. 

P stops in his tracks. Is Venigni going to leave? Where?

“Morning, sleepyhead”, Carlo says and turns to him. His brother is grinning, so things are probably not so bad. Venigni is probably not dying, just…going away.

P steps closer, savoring his brother’s touch when Carlo wraps his arm around him. Then brother frowns and looks at him closely. “Did you sleep? You look tired.”

P just nods. He slept well, for once without any nightmares about things that happened during his first weeks being alive. And the weird feeling is explained, so everything is fine now. He leans close to Carlo, who thankfully drops the subject and turns back to Venigni and continues the discussion.

“I went to the Technician track, yeah. I wanted to be a Stalker, but dad wouldn’t hear of it. I guess I was pretty good, though.”

“Good?” Venigni repeats. “Why, mon ami, I think you’re severely underestimating yourself. I would never have managed to fix your friend without your help. And the ideas you just shared with me -you truly are your father’s child!”

Carlo doesn’t tense. Carlo smiles, a bit wryly, but smiles. Pinocchio leans a bit closer to him, offering wordless support. He knows Carlo doesn't like to talk about father.

“And what comes to my offer -you would be an amazing asset. But I understand if you feel you cannot leave the hotel yet."

“I need to talk with Romeo first”, Carlo says thoughtfully. “But it’s…”

“Talk to me about what?”

Romeo strolls to them from the main doors. Leaves in his hair and the fresh breeze he brings with him tell them he’s been on a walk, and bread in his hand tells about the successful trip to the bakery. Carlo smiles, like he always does when he sees his lover.

“About Venigni’s offer”, Carlo says. “He’s moving today to the factory and thought maybe we too would like to go. There’s another empty apartment there.”

Romeo mulls the thought. “When?”

“Soon. The factory opens in a week and we talked about a few changes we could make. I’m going there today and-”

Pinocchio takes a fews steps back and stares at Carlo. “You’re gonna leave?”

Carlo blinks. “Yeah. I mean I will come back-”

P understands now. Carlo is going to leave him. Carlo is going to take Romeo and leave him, just like everyone else. He has stayed long enough for P to get comfortable and now that he has learned to trust him he’s going to leave forever, just like Sophia and father and Antonia-

He can't do this. He can’t lose Carlo too. But he will, and he’s losing Romeo with him, and Venigni. Eugenie is leaving too, and Polendina is a puppet again and-

“P-”

“You will leave!” 

Carlo takes a step closer. He looks confused. “P, calm down. I won’t just-”

“You leave!” P cries, forgetting his words in his panic. He flings his arms, not sure if he’s trying to grab Carlo or push him away. His Legion arm collides with one of the portraits and drops it, but he cannot bring himself to care. 

Romeo frowns and comes closer, his voice low and friendly. “P, buddy, we won’t-”

But P doesn’t want to hear what they won’t do. He doesn’t want to hear more words of rejection, no matter how gentle. Sophia’s letter was gentle, and yet she left. Giangio’s was friendly, and he too is gone. 

P is too far gone to realize what he’s doing until he hears a screech. He looks down and sees Spring sprinting away, its tail between its legs and ears pressed against its head. 

He kicked Spring. He kicked Spring. He worked so hard to get the cat to trust him and now he kicked it. 

“P-”

P turns around and flees.

Chapter Text

Romeo finds P at the rooftop.

He's not surprised. This is where Pinocchio usually comes when he's upset. And now he's terribly upset, perhaps more upset he's ever been since Carlo dragged him to the hotel after their father’s death.

Romeo wonders whether he should step back and let Carlo deal with his volatile, scared little brother. But there's some words Pinocchio needs to hear from him, not Carlo.

“Hey”, he says casually and walks closer. Pinocchio doesn't turn around, just stays where he is, sitting on the edge of the roof. Carlo wouldn't be happy if he saw. 

Romeo joins him without asking, sitting close enough to touch. After the discussion they had downstairs, he is not sure P wouldn't try to jump.

They sit in silence for a second, both looking at the city. Krat is slowly getting back to its feet. Perhaps one day it will be the same city it used to be. 

Romeo hopes not. He hopes the new Krat will be kinder. More merciful.

He sighs, knowing stalling will get them nowhere. “Pino, Carlo would never leave you behind.”

“He would”, the former puppet answers quietly. “For you.”

“No he wouldn't”, Romeo says and means it. “He loves you more than anything. You're his brother. He would never just leave you.”

“He loves you more than me.”

This, Romeo thinks, is a bad time to have a discussion about romantic and platonic relationships. 

“Carlo loves me…differently”, he says carefully, placing his words like pieces on a chess board. “He loves you because you're his brother but he loves me…the romantic way.”

Pinocchio glances at him. “Polendina used to love lady Antonia.” 

Romeo frowns. “Polendina?” The monotonic butler puppet? 

“Yes”, Pinocchio says and turns to look at the city again. “But when she died, he turned himself back to puppet again. Is that romance?”

Romeo sighs. “No, not really. Or yes, in a way.” All his years in theatre didn't prepare him to explain relationships to a worried, scared boy who thinks he's going to lose the little family he has left. 

“Sometimes people meet and like each other very much”, he says finally. “They sort of click, and they fit to each other. That's romantic love. But there's different kinds of love too. There's love for family. Like between you and Carlo.”

P bites his lip. It's one of the first human expressions he has learned. “Father didn't love me.”

Oh, that. “That's because there was something wrong with your father”, Romeo says. “He could not love. He didn't know how to.”

“But he was a human.”

“You just said Polendina loved lady Antonia. Puppets can love too.” 

“Pulcinella loves Venigni.” 

“Yes.” The butler puppet did love his master, which sometimes was a bit embarrassing to the inventor. Carlo had once wondered whether he still had a bedtime. The next day Pinocchio had asked Venigni that. 

“Do you…love me?”

Romeo startles. Pinocchio doesn't turn to look at him. He stares at the city but Romeo can see him tense, like is getting ready to attack. 

Ready to jump…

“Of course. I love you differently than I love Carlo, but no less, just in a different way. You're my friend.”

Pinocchio is his friend. They play pranks on Carlo, they play chess together (Carlo hates chess with a passion) they learn to use their senses together. Romeo keeps company to Pinocchio (and keeps an eye on him) when Carlo is busy. Pinocchio doesn't scoff at him like Carlo does when he recites Shakespeare sometimes. He even listens.

Pinocchio stays quiet for a while. Romeo reaches for him and when the boy doesn't struggle, pulls him closer. He thinks P could use a hug right now. 

They sit like that, when the trapdoor behind them opens and Carlo comes out. He plops casually to Pinocchio's other side and pulls them both close. 

After a while Carlo speaks. “You shouldn't sit this close to the edge. You could fall.”

Pinocchio doesn't answer, just leans close to his brother. 

“Pino, you know I would never leave you. That's not what that was about. We might not always live in the hotel but that does not mean I would leave you behind.”

“Why not live in hotel?”

Carlo sighs, running his hand through his brother's hair. “People don't usually live in hotels, Pino. They live in houses. I was just wondering whether we should get a new apartment, is all.”

Romeo glanced at his lover, suddenly realizing something. “Who owns the hotel now, anyway?”

“Venigni”, Carlo answers. “Apparently he was like a grandson to lady Antonia and inherited the hotel alongside a bunch of other things. He already told me we're welcome to stay as long as we want.”

Ironically, the whole thing had started from Venigni. The man had finally managed to repair his factory enough he could move to a small apartment there. Well, small in his standards, not theirs. Romeo had thought a family with eight children could easily live there when they went to check it out.

There was another apartment ready as well. And since Carlo had inherited his father's talents no matter how little he wanted to and Venigni needed help with the factory, he had offered it to them. Which has led to Pinocchio's meltdown.

Romeo didn't even know why the boy was so convinced Carlo would move out with Romeo and leave him behind. Nobody had even hinted at something like that. But perhaps Pinocchio had gained some understanding about relationships during his time exploring destroyed city, and had feared he would lose yet another person in his life. He had already lost so many: Lady Antonia. Sophia. Father.

He could not bear to lose Carlo too. 

“Let's go inside”, Carlo says finally. “I'm hungry. Romeo, make some pancakes.”

Romeo scoffs and throws a quick remark about Carlo's cooking skills but doesn't protest. Carlo then sends Pinocchio to the kitchen to gather the ingredients, knowing full well the boy can't resist the siren call of maple syrup.

When he is out of earshot, Romeo turns to Carlo. “So, are we going to move or what?”

“Or what”, Carlo says, running his hand through his dark locks. He always does that. It was one of the things Romeo missed most about him, when he was gone. “Maybe we should take it easy first. Take him to see the apartment, show him his room so he realizes he won't be left behind. This is his home, you know. The only one he's ever had. It's not really surprising he did…what he did.”

What he did was to destroy some furniture, scream at Carlo, push away Spring who tried to come closer and then panic when the cat screeched. And then hide at the roof. 

Romeo sighs. “I'll make pancakes. We'll go from there.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Romeo thinks Carlo can be a little bit overprotective.

He knows he's not completely blameless himself: after growing up watching Carlo wait for his father to show up every Sunday, he would very much like to wrap his lover in blankets and keep him there forever. And it's not like their…experience with death and Gepetto and puppets really helped things.

Still, Romeo thinks Carlo could sometimes loosen up a bit. Especially when it comes to P.

It's not like Carlo pampers his brother: he's constantly telling him to do things, from taking baths to doing his homework. No P, I won't let you be a Stalker, you have brains now, use them. No, you can't have cookies for breakfast, do you want to take another trip to the dentist? No, don't kill that spider. I don't care what Eugenie says, we're not savages. Take it outside.

But sometimes Carlo could be a bit too protective. He refuses to let P see any kind of violence whatsoever, and doesn't like him taking trips outside alone, despite the fact that the boy is now probably the best swordsman in all Krat, and also a human, so he wouldn't be attacked by people who are terrified of puppets nowadays. 

Romeo knows Carlo is just trying to protect his brother. It does not help that P has slowly taken to tell them about his experiences in destroyed Krat: how the mutated Archbishop almost cut him in half and how many times Sophia had to turn back time until he managed to defeat Simon Manus, or how he had realized he could feel pain when one of the puppets set him on fire at the Swamp…

So yeah. It's probably not surprising why Carlo keeps such a close eye on his brother.

Still, Pinocchio is not a child. He's inexperienced, and fragile in many ways, but he understands more about life than they think sometimes. A fact they find out in a hard way during one mundane trip for groceries.

Krat is slowly coming back to life. Shops are starting to reopen, people gather enough courage to leave their hiding places, streets get cleaned up. One day Romeo sees somebody planting flowers in the town square and a few kids chase each other around a statue of Valentinus Monad, laughing.

This also means supplies start to trickle back to Krat. To Carlo's delight, the bakery starts to sell not only mundane bread, but croissants and pastries. They have picked a good bag of both and are returning to the hotel for a good breakfast, when P suddenly stops.

Carlo and Romeo exchange glances. “What is it, Pino?” Carlo asks and hands the bag to Romeo. Pinocchio doesn't answer, just starts to walk towards a small alley tucked between two buildings. Carlo frowns and follows him, Romeo in tow.

Then they hear a small meow.

“Damn it”, Carlo says.

Romeo knows from the second he sees the cat curled up against the building that there's no hope: there's a big deep gash on its side, and one of its legs is hanging from a few strips of skin. It keeps meowing, either in panic or pain. Perhaps both.

P crouches down and pets the cat's head gently. It meows weakly back, but can't get up.

“P”, Carlo says quietly, carefully. “Why don't you step back with Romeo and-”

But he doesn't have time to finish the sentence. Pinocchio puts his flesh hand to the cat's head, pets it one more time, and then puts his metal arm on its neck.

The sound of breaking bones makes Romeo close his eyes for a second. When he opens them, P is already getting up, the dead cat in his arms. “I want to bury it. To the garden.” 

Carlo looks at his brother in surprise, but then nods. “That's a good idea.”

They leave the town square quietly, all deep in their thoughts. P carries the cat gently, even though it can no longer feel any pain. 

Romeo was right. P understands a lot more than they have thought.

He understands mercy.

Chapter Text

“Carlo?”

Carlo acknowledges his brother's presence with a quiet hum but doesn't raise his head from his book.

“Carlo, is this…normal?”

Insecurity in P’s voice made Carlo tear his eyes from the book. They narrowed. 

“Normal -P, what the hell happened to your eyes?”

“There's a dog in the lobby and I petted it but then I started to sneeze and-” 

Carlo gets up and grabs his brother's arm, already wondering if they have any antihistamine. “We’re allergic to dogs!”

“Carlo, it's not anything serious, but…”

“What is it?” Carlo interrupts, putting his tools down. Venigni looks a bit uncomfortable, lingering in the doorway. 

“Well, P has a nosebleed. I told him it would stop on its own, but-”

Carlo sighs and pushes Venigni gently away, guided by the voice of his brother's sniffles.

“Carlo?”

“Right here”, Carlo says and takes P’s hand. Brother squeezes his weakly but then another set of coughing rattles his body. 

“Hurts”, P mumbles and wraps his blanket tighter around himself. Carlo tsks.

“I know your throat is sore but you have to take your meds. It helps, trust me.”

P takes his medicine, but gags and complains about the taste. Oddly it reassures Carlo: P is not that sick, if he has energy to whine.

“Tired”, P whispers when he is done with the meds. Carlo guides him gently to lie down. “I know, Pino. Get some sleep, you'll feel better when you wake up.”

Pinocchio closes his eyes but doesn't let go of Carlo's hand.

“Carlo?”

“P, it's fine.”

“But he won't wake up”, P says, staring at his brother. Romeo can see panic creeping in the boy's eyes and wraps his arm around him.

“He's just sleeping. It's normal to sleep heavily when you're sick.”

“Will he get better?”

“Of course. But when he wakes up you have to make him take some nasty medicine, okay?”

“Okay."

Chapter Text

The sunset colored the ocean red and orange, a few seagulls cried high above. The waves crashed against the shore, adding their melody to this place, a never-ending orchestra. 

It soothed Carlo. He had never visited this particular manor before, but plenty of it's kind. Father had often rented a villa for the summer, and he remembered spending hours walking at the shores, looking for seashells and interesting rocks. Of course, that was before mother had died and he had been sent to the school.

It was good to get out of the town, Carlo thought. When Venigni had suggested they would join him on his trip to his seaside manor, he had been eager to accept. They needed a vacation, all four of them. 

So far it seemed to do good for everybody. Venigni had taken up his several hobbies again and was currently composing a symphony to an entire orchestra. Carlo enjoyed walks to the beach. Romeo had fidgeted a bit but then started to try several recipes he had wanted to try before. 

And P…

Well. It was only when they stepped out of the train and Carlo saw his brother look around anxiously, that he realized that P had actually never been out of the Krat before.  

The first few days were hard. P stayed close to Carlo, and liked to sleep in the same room as him. But eventually the former puppet had learned to enjoy all the countryside had to offer, even though he still sometimes asked where all the roads were. He even found a hobby. 

Well. It was a hobby, even though the way P talked about it, was a little…macabre. 

“For the last time, compagno, we are not making graves for seeds. We’re planting them, so they can grow. Okay?”

P’s voice was too quiet for Carlo to hear, but the tone was clear. He grinned and left the beach, following the voices of his brother and slightly frustrated Venigni.

“Well yes, we do bury them, but eventually they will push themselves out and towards the sun. What, you don’t believe me? Let’s see what your brother says about that.”

“He’s right”, Carlo interrupted the quarrel and went to see what Venigni and P have accomplished. They had plowed the soil, and planted a few seeds already. Well, a few. Carlo could see the seed bag in his brother’s bag and snatched it to himself. “P, you’re supposed to bury these. They grow under the soil for some time and when they’re ready, they reach towards the sun.”

His brother looked at him with a blank expression, that had come to mean he didn't not believe a word Carlo said He sighed and shook his head, but smiled.

“Why don’t you try it? We’ll be here for a few weeks longer, you’ll have time to see. And speaking of growth, let’s go see what Romeo has cooked for dinner. I’m starving.”

P hesitated but eventually nodded and held his hand to get the seed bag back. He didn't not follow Carlo to the kitchens though, opting to plant the last seeds instead. Venigni shot a grateful look to Carlo and grabbed his shovel.

Carlo whistled when he went inside, but he when he saw Romeo.

His lover stood in front of the window, a soup forgotten on the stove and a bread knife in his hand. He stared blankly out of the window.

“Hey”, Carlo said carefully, not wanting to startle his lover who once was a king and was also holding a knife. Romeo shook his head suddenly, like trying to clear his mind, but when he turned to Carlo, his smile was real.

“Hey.” 

Carlo came closer and wrapped his arms around Romeo’s waist. “What are you thinking?”

Romeo was silent for a while, opting to turn back towards the window. “I’ve…I’ve never been in a place like this, you know.”

Carlo knew. For him, the Monad Charity House was a punishment, a jail, a place where he was thrown to and forgotten.

For Romeo, it was a paradise. 

“You’ll get used to it”, he said eventually. Romeo smiled, like he did not believe Carlo's words.

But they were true. They all deserved sun and beach.

Chapter Text

During his first few weeks being a human Pinocchio had not liked to be touched.

He had clutched Carlo’s hand in any possible opportunity, sure, and had accepted being held by him, but that was all. He flinched when Venigni tried to put his hand on his shoulder, took a step back when Eugenie touched his arm and didn’t even pet Spring. He also hated wearing clothes and wore the same ones until Carlo forced him to change. 

Eventually they found an explanation. Venigni read a few books about human anatomy (he had a medical degree, because of course he did, the man was a genius) and explained that Pinocchio’s skin was brand-new, like a newborn baby. It was vastly different from his experiences with synthetic skin, a lot more sensitive. And because he was not used to different textures and temperatures, almost everything hurt. The only one whose touch he could handle, was Carlo.

With Romeo, however, P had always been fine with. Perhaps Romeo’s new, mostly synthetic skin reminded him about his old body, or the warmth that the former king radiated soothed him. Nevertheless, P often stood close to him, whenever he had a chance. 

Slowly P got better with everyone else too. He still didn’t like to change clothes and refused to even try new ones, opting to steal Carlo’s, but he let himself be touched again. He no longer held Carlo’s hand when they went out and started to value privacy during the nights (which, Carlo had to admit, was a relief: he could not sleep when P and Romeo both radiated warmth like human furnaces) but he still liked to be touched. 

Eugenie didn’t mind, quite the opposite: she liked to have P close whenever she went outside, and enjoyed his company when she worked in her work station. She even taught P to dance.

Venigni too was happy to have his young friend back. The inventor was tactile by nature, and liked to hold whoever he was talking to. Carlo thought it weird sometimes, but then decided it was just a cultural difference. 

Venigni however, had a slight problem. He sometimes worked in the hotel lobby, trying still to make some sense of the puppet frenzy and sometimes P came to sit on his feet with his own book, even though there were other chairs available. 

Carlo shrugged it off. “He just likes being close”, he said when Venigni voiced his concerns. “And maybe he tries to protect you. Let him be, it’s not like you’re forcing him.”

Romeo, however, had a different explanation. “Maybe P couldn’t sit on the floor before? I couldn’t when I was a puppet. Maybe he just likes doing that.”

But that explanation didn’t seem to hold water either. P never sat on the floor unless Venigni sat on the chair. Then he usually came to quietly sit on his feet, opened his book and started to read. 

Eventually Venigni grew so uncomfortable that Carlo decided they had to talk. “Hey, Pino? Why do you always sit on the floor when Venigni reads a book?”

His brother, who was on his way to bed, stopped in his tracks. “He needs company”, he said to his brother who arched an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?”

“He needs company. He smells sad when he reads those books.”

After P was safely out of the way and in his room, Carlo went to see Venigni.

The man was not in his room. No, he was there, in the lobby, elbows deep in his work. 

Carlo watched him for a while. Watched his furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin line, his tired eyes. Then he sighed. 

“Hello, Carlo. Why are you here so late -agh!”

"Bedtime", Carlo told him and started to forcibly escort him upstairs. "You work too much and we won’t have it.”

“We?”

“Me and P.”

Chapter Text

When Krat finally started to get back to its feet, the coffee shops reappeared. 

Carlo loved them, even though he would deny it until the end of the world: he was not addicted to caffeine, no matter what Romeo said. And if he suggested a trip to the close cafe during their walk, it was only so they could enjoy some pastries, not because he craved espresso. 

Having made his order, an espresso and hazelnut macaron, he looked at P. His brother was staring at the pastries, a frown in his usually emotionless face. Carlo sighed. This happened every time. 

Romeo seemed to understand the boy’s anxiety and smiled at the waitress. “I’ll have the cappucino and pain au chocolat.”

The waitress blushed violently and nodded, busying herself with writing the simple order down. Carlo rolled his eyes: nobody, man or woman, could resist Romeo’s charm. No wonder the puppets had followed him. 

“And you, sir?” the girl asked. She looked at P. 

P looked back. Then he looked at Carlo.

Carlo sighed. But there was a line behind them, Romeo was looking at him pointedly, and he really wanted that espresso. “He’ll have cappuccino as well, and a piece of Swiss chocolate cake.

“Thank you”, the girl said and looked at P a curiously. Carlo glared at her, which made her blush again and look at her notepad like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“You shouldn’t be so mean”, Romeo said when they had gotten their order and found a free table.

“She was staring at P like she wanted to ask him out”, Carlo said and then turned to look at his brother. “And P, you need to learn to order for yourself. What will you do when you want coffee and I’m not there to speak for you?”

P, who had his mouth full of chocolate cake, nudged towards Romeo. Romeo laughed and raised his cappuccino to his lips. “Let him be, Carlo, he’ll learn eventually.”

“He has to learn now”, Carlo said firmly. “We’re not always here to help him out.”

P stared at him, his lip wavering. Carlo sighed. 

“No, P, we’re not gonna die. But you need to learn to do things yourself, okay?”

“Why, hello, my friend —what is it, compagno?” 

“You want to try that prototype? Of course, it’s all yours. I call it Master of Wings!”

“Yes, you’re correct. The name needs some work.”

“Hey, P! Can I help you with something?”

“You want to try that? Of course, just return it in one piece!”

“You don’t want me to tell Carlo? Hey, we Technicians never reveal our secrets. You’re safe with me!”

“Hey, mate, nice to see you!”

“Oh, you want me to help open that jar? Sure. It can be hard with that metal arm, but those wings look very cool!”

“Yeah, sure, here’s some money. Bring me some fudge from the candy shop, will you?”

“No, of course I won’t tell Carlo.”

“Stalker, I’ve returned–”

“Oh, you want a drink? Of course. I’ll buy you a coffee, then we can talk.”

Carlo frowned.

He was sure the prototype had been on his desk before he left to get lunch. And come to mention it, why were there some small holes in the opposite wall?

He checked the office next door, where Venigni was having a discussion with Eugenie. “Hey, have either of you seen the prototype?”

“You mean the new Legion arm, compagno?” Venigni asked, smiling serenely. “Pinocchio borrowed it, he wanted to test it out.”

“Test it out? It’s a prototype! And where is he?”

Romeo appeared behind Carlo. “Hey, is P here? He was supposed to come back with my fudge already.”

“You sent him to the candy shop?”

“Yeah? I thought you wanted him to be more independent.”

“I want him to talk to people and do things himself. You know full well that the vendor in the candy shop is a puppet.”

“Maybe he wants to be with his own kind.”

“He’s a human now, Romeo, you know that. And he should already be back.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him”, Eugenie said evenly and turned to look at the prototypes on Venigni’s desk. “He borrowed my new Achille’s Wing, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“You gave him a gun?”

“Shoot, I was not supposed to tell you that.”

“This is ridiculous, he’s just three months old. You gave a three-month-old a gun!”

“He’s not a baby, Carlo.”

“He might as well be, the way you lot baby him!”

“Oh, calm down. Have some espresso.”

Chapter Text

“Don't let him carry any weapons.”

“Okay.”

“Except that little dagger of his, he can have that just in case. And Aegis, I want him to have a shield. Make sure he has his pocket watch, when he goes out, okay? And–”

“Carlo, you're only going to be away for two days. You really think I can't handle P for two days?”

Carlo sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He looked tired and young and not at all an accomplished Technician ready to go on his first work trip. “Okay, fine. Just–keep an eye on him. Please?”

“I will.” Romeo stepped closer and kissed Carlo's forehead. “I'll look after him, I promise. You just focus on impressing those stuffy folks, okay?”

Carlo sighed and leaned against his touch. “Sounds like a plan.”

Pinocchio did not like the fact that his brother was going away without him. 

He had taken the news relatively calmly, though, considering the last time he thought Carlo was going to leave him he destroyed some furniture. Now he just sulked, crossed his arms and looked so much like a lost puppy that Eugenie asked him what was wrong when she dropped by. 

He agreed, however, to accompany Carlo and Romeo to the train station. There Carlo gave his lover a kiss and his brother a hug and both of them a strict warning not to get in any trouble while he was away. “And P, do as Romeo says, okay?”

Pinocchio glanced at Romeo and nodded. Carlo looked at him firmly. “I mean it. No funny business, no more giraffes–”

“You didn't tell me treasure hunting–”

“I shouldn't need to tell you treasure hunting does not involve giraffes. Anyway, behave and I'll bring you back a souvenir, okay?”

P nodded, then asked, “What's a souvenir?”

In the end Romeo had to push Carlo to the train. He waved until the train disappeared, then turned towards P. “Okay, what do you say about coffee and–P?”

Three minutes. 

It took Romeo three minutes to lost P.

He cursed to himself when he searched aimlessly around the station, pushing people out of the way and then asking them about a young man who had silver hair and a metal arm. At least P was easy to recognize: he couldn't have gotten far. 

Finally a little girl with a teddy bear gave him the answer. “I dropped my teddy to the rails and he jumped down and found him!”

Something cold ran down Romeo's spine. “Great. And where is he now?”

“Oh, he took the next train”, said the girl's mother. “The one that goes to the zoo I believe.”

Forget the cold. Now Romeo was freezing.

The day was nice and the hastily rebuilt Krat Zoo was full of people who had come to see the animals. 

But there was a weird tension in the air when Romeo arrived. People were all talking rapidly, gesturing towards something and nobody spared a glance to the animals. Romeo groaned. This couldn't be good. 

He pushed through the mass of people who were still talking (did you see that? How did he do it?) and finally arrived to the Crocodile’s cage to see–

-P, standing in front of the giant corpse, wiping his sword that was still dripping blood, and not looking at the men who were clearly trying to get his attention.

“We're in great debt to you”, said the first man, who was wearing something that looked like a military uniform. “We have no idea why it acted like that, Butcher has been here for years–”

“You saved the customers”, said another man who was wearing a suit. “Perhaps you would like to come to my office so we can discuss a proper repayment?”

Even though he was still a few meters away, Romeo could see P's left shoulder twitch. It did that when he was nervous, he knew, and he also knew why he was nervous. P was still more used to being around corpses than living human beings. Romeo pushed away a few more people and marched towards P. “Pinocchio!”

“Pinocchio?” the first man repeated. 

“You know this fine young man?” the second man asked. He eyed P with the interest Romeo did not like. 

He smiled and took P’s arm. The former puppet didn't say anything but relaxed against him. “Certainly. He's my dear friend. Now, if you excuse us, we really must be going. You can send that repayment to Lorenzini Venigni's office, thank you very much.”

And with that, he escorted P out. 

“What the heck were you thinking?”

P shrugged. “I wanted to see the animals.”

“You wanted to –why didn't you ask me if we could go see the animals?”

“You were busy with Carlo.”

“P, it took me like two minutes to say goodbye to Carlo. Anyway, do not wander off again, okay? Carlo will kill me.”

P nodded, but in the way Romeo knew he hadn't actually understood. It was sometimes difficult to understand what P thought about things. Romeo wasn't sure whether it was more because he was a brand-new human with very little life experience under his belt, or the fact that said life experience had been gathered by killing his way through the destroyed city. Pinocchio was more used to chaos and destruction than peace and common courtesy. No wonder he had jumped in the second he saw a violent crocodile getting loose.

Carlo understood him best. Perhaps it was because they were quite literally identical and Carlo could understand P with only small gestures. Or maybe it was because P had been created with Carlo's soul. In any case, P was always less confused and more confident when Carlo was around.

Romeo sighed, then decided to distract P with his most powerful weapon: food. “Let's make some dinner. Can you cut the vegetables?”

“I want dessert”, P said immediately.

The next morning found Romeo nursing a huge cup of coffee, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

The evening had passed relatively well. Both Venigni and Eugenie had joined them for dinner (though P had to drag Venigni out of his workshop) and Eugenie had brought Spring too. Their presence had soothed P who was always anxious when Carlo was away. 

Carlo called after they had finished dinner. He sounded excited, if not a bit tired. Romeo had decided not to tell him about the zoo thing. It would just worry him. He would tell…eventually. 

P had not mentioned his trip to the zoo either, just pouted when Carlo strictly forbade him leaving the factory without Romeo. They had one of their “you're not a puppet anymore, for Alchemists sake” talks before Romeo picked the phone and told P to go wash the dishes, even though he knew the boy would break half of them.

It was when their guests left and they got ready for bed, when things got eventful. 

First P heard a noise from the living room. Before Romeo had time to stop him, he took his weapon and went to inspect it. It turned out to only be a window that had been left open, but P slashed the window sill just to be sure no monsters were crawling in. 

When they had repaired the window, it was almost midnight. Romeo dragged P to bed, not even considering sleeping in separate rooms. It seemed like P didn't want that either: he passed out almost immediately when he landed on Romeo and Carlo's bed.

Then he had a nightmare. 

Romeo should have known this would happen. P had nightmares weekly, and both him and Carlo were used to the sight of P standing in the doorway, staring at them, his left arm twitching uncontrollably. Sometimes Carlo got up and took him back to his own room, whispering to him softly when he did so. Sometimes he just dragged P to bed between them and the former puppet soon calmed down when Carlo stroked his hair.

Romeo rarely did anything when these things happened. Sometimes he patted P's shoulder or said a few words, but mostly he just let Carlo take care of it. It was him who P wanted, anyway. 

But now Carlo was not here, and P was lying rigid on bed, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, his left arm twitching, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

“P”, Romeo said quietly, as gently as he could. “It's okay. I'm here.”

First it seemed like P hadn't heard his words. Then, slowly, he turned around so he could bury his head to Romeo's shoulder. 

Romeo sighed and wrapped his arms around him. “Bad dream, huh?”

“Father”, P explained. Romeo sighed again. Out of all P's nightmares, those about his father were the worst ones. 

Romeo bit his lip, wondering what could make P feel better. They could call Carlo or…

“Hey, I think we still have some cake in the fridge. You want some?”

P was quiet for a second. Then he nodded.

So they had some cake. Then P fell back asleep but Romeo couldn't. He had known P would miss Carlo. 

But he hadn't realized how much he would.

So now he was having his second cup of coffee, and trying to find a way to distract P during the day. Normally they would work in the factory where P usually tailed Venigni or Carlo, acting as their lifeguard, but now it was Saturday. They had to find a day to entertain themselves.

Then Romeo got an idea. P had gone to the zoo yesterday, but had he ever been to a carnival?

Turned out he had. 

It had not ended well.

“For the last time, P, no, you don't have to kill the puppets. They're harmless, see? Yes, even the Parade Master.”

“No, P, that man swallows flames, he doesn't spit them–”

“No, P, there's no wandering merchants here. But they do sell stuff in stalls. You want something?”

“Why do kids like you so much? Is it the hair? Or the arm?”

“You want more cotton candy? Sure. It's only your sixth.” 

All in all, Romeo considered the day to be a success.

P had not killed anyone or anything, even though he had eyed the puppets with utmost suspicion. He had eaten more cotton candy that could be healthy for anyone, even a puppet, and he had gotten himself plenty of dirty looks from the stall keepers when he kept winning prizes for cheering children, but Romeo's scythe and sharp eyes kept their mouths shut. 

Yet, when they returned home, Romeo was exhausted, and more than grateful when Venigni popped in and asked if P could escort him to the workshop. He needed some stuff there and the town was still unsafe after dark. 

Because P could easily himself against enemies, Romeo let him go. They returned in two hours, in great spirits, especially P who had tested one of Venigni's new Legion arms, one that shot arrows.

During the night, however, Romeo woke up and realized P was not there.

He got up quickly, grabbed his scythe and headed out.

The front door was still locked. The apartment was quiet and calm, no lights on.

Except…

Romeo approached the kitchen slowly, then stopped in his tracks.

“P, is that a cat?”

When the train finally slowed down and stopped, Carlo was the first one out.

When Romeo saw his familiar brown eyes, he released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. It took every inch of his willpower to stay still and let P greet Carlo first. 

“P, you're crushing me”, Carlo laughed but hugged his brother just as tightly. “Yes, I brought you something, but let me see Romeo first–Romeo?”

Romeo stepped in, swept Carlo off his feet and then gave him a very thorough kiss in front of everyone. “Welcome home”, he said and meant it with all his heart.

“I was only gone for two days”, Carlo said and looked at him in a way that promised a proper greeting later. Then he frowned. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

“Peachy”, Romeo said and tried desperately to smile. “Can we go home now?”

“Sure”,Carlo said but still eyed him suspiciously. He was distracted, however, when P grabbed his arm. “Come on, I want you to meet Jump.”

“Who's Jump?”

“My cat.”

“You let him get a cat?"

Chapter Text

The place was beautiful, and distant.

Carlo still didn't know why he had buried their father there. It had just felt right, and he had not had much energy to think besides, having been brought back from the dead only a week or so ago. 

He had not done it right away. Actually he had wondered if he should return back there at all. Leave Geppetto there, let rats and mutated humans deal with him.

But that did not feel right either. 

So he had waited until P had fallen asleep one night and then sneaked out of the hotel with Romeo. They had retrieved his father's corpse and brought it…here. Romeo had helped him dig a shallow grave and there they had left Giuseppe Geppetto. Not remembered, not missed. 

Not until P had asked to see his grave.

Their journey was quiet.

Carlo led the way on a narrow, steep path, still wondering if they should turn back. He did not understand why P would want to see the grave. Why would he grieve a man who had brought them nothing but sorrow?

He wished he had asked Romeo, but this felt somehow too intimate to share even with his lover. This was just for them, just for Geppetto's creations.

Carlo trekked forward until he reached the top. Here, on top of a small hill right next to a steep cliff with a direct drop into the sea, he had buried their father. 

He knew where the grave was. The whole hill was covered with flowers, white and yellow and blue, but this part only grew grass. He knew it was because the ground had been dug recently, but it still seemed fitting. No flowers for Geppetto, not from his sons or nature. “Here.”

P looked at the place. His face betrayed no emotions. “He has no gravestone.”

“I didn't make one”, Carlo said. Then, because he couldn't hold himself back he added: “he doesn't deserve one.”

P stayed quiet. Then he crouched down and took a small stick from the ground. 

Giuseppe Geppetto, he wrote to the soil and then got back up. 

“He should have gravestone”, he said then. “So people would remember him and–what he did."

Carlo stared at his brother.

The answer was already on the tip of his tongue. The only good thing he ever did was you.

But then he thought about it further. Maybe that was not what P had meant. “You mean that people should remember all the bad stuff he did?”

P shrugged. “Good stuff. Bad stuff. You. Me.”

“People will remember”, Carlo said. He had made sure of that. He was not going to let people blame Venigni for putting his trust in somebody everyone had admired. He hadn't  let him take the blame for the puppet frenzy. If it meant Geppetto's name had to be ruined, so be it.

To Carlo's surprise (and sometimes disappointment) people had cared surprisingly little. Everyone was trying to recover, and puppets were still welcomed to clear the city. People still shook Carlo's hand. Nobody tried to throw them with rotten vegetables when they walked around. Nobody cared. 

Except Carlo.

And, apparently, Pinocchio.

They stayed a little bit longer, each in their own thoughts. P gathered a few flowers. Only blue ones, Carlo noticed, not any others. He made a small bundle and laid them there, on the unmarked soil.

Carlo had to ask. He had to know.

“Do you miss him?”

P was quiet. 

Then, when Carlo had already started to regret his question he answered. “Sometimes.” Then he glanced at Carlo, his eyes the same blue their father's had been. “You don't.”

It was not a question, but Carlo answered still. 

“I do. Sometimes.”

Had he really ever stopped missing his father? It was easier to see now, that he had grown, that he had not really missed Giuseppe Geppetto, the genius puppet-maker. No, he had missed the distant memory of the man who had let him ride on his shoulders and who thrown him towards the ceiling until he screeched in delight, and who had let him climb into his lap and read to him their favorite book, Pinocchio–

Who had disappeared the second his mother died, almost like he had died too. And maybe the father who Carlo remembered, had. In his place was a man whose intelligence neared madness. Carlo could understand that, almost. The idea of something happening to Romeo–

But even still he would not shut P out. You don't shut out the family.

“I'll get him a gravestone”, Carlo said finally. “But I think we should head back now.”

Pinocchio nodded and then turned towards him. Carlo was not surprised to feel metal fingers brush his own. He squeezed them tightly and and more felt than saw P relax. 

They left, leaving their father to find his peace

Chapter Text

Carlo took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair.

Taking a break  was a treat, and a rare one. He didn’t often have time to just sit back and relax with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.  But now, a day after his first trip as a Technician, he had managed to steal himself a chance to relax. P was downstairs playing table tennis with Eugenie (it was the only sport he enjoyed) and Romeo had gone to escort Venigni to the factory. Carlo finally had some time for himself. 

The coffee was not amazing, though: it was a cheap brand, the only thing you could get from Krat nowadays. Carlo longed for the days when he would have a cup of fine coffee with Lea, while Romeo, the absolute child, tried to find a difference between the mud he called coffee and the nice, expensive one Carlo and Lea sometimes bought. 

Thinking of Lea tugged something deep in Carlo’s chest. Nostalgia mixed with sadness, the feeling of emptiness in where she used to be. 

Sometimes, when he laid in bed and listened to Romeo’s somehow artificial breathing, he wondered what she would think about him. Would she be proud? Or disappointed he had not become a Stalker after all?

Carlo somehow found it ironic that in the end he had himself chosen a path that he had run away from for years. Ever since the classes meant for everyone ended and training in different tracks started, he had refused to attend each and every Technician class he had been signed in by his father. He stole the copy of Stalkers' schedule instead and went there, no matter how many times he got kicked out. Eventually he got better at hiding, listening from open windows or behind the curtains, often in cupboards. Romeo, of course, was always loyal and sneaked out with him at night so Carlo could practice with his sword. 

Eventually, when they only had an year or so left, his disappointed father finally gave up and let him attend the remaining classes, even though he warned him he would end up not having an education at all. But he had. He took all the tests he had to, he trained late in the night, until he finally graduated with almost as good grades as Romeo. 

He sometimes wondered if that was why Lea had finally agreed to train him. Romeo was natural, of course, but Carlo had gotten his education through sheer stubbornness. Perhaps Lea had seen some parts of herself in him, or perhaps his strong will had amused her. 

In any case, she had been a great teacher. So good, in fact, that she had accidentally trained P as well, who then took down Simon Manus. 

(P said it hadn’t been difficult.) 

(He also said Manus had looked like a beach ball.)

But all those times were long in the past. Krat was in ruins, Carlo had been brought back from the dead by his puppet brother who was no longer a puppet and father was dead. 

Father was dead, so the only person who could get Romeo his third and hopefully final chance, had been Lorenzini Venigni. Carlo had heard about him, of course, but had never met him. It surprised him first to hear how well acquainted the inventor had been with his father, but then he thought better of it. His father had barely remained in contact, why would he tell Carlo about his colleagues? 

But Venigni was a nice guy. He helped, but it was slow, when there was only one person. So Carlo had…offered to help. 

First he hated how natural it felt. He had clawed his way through the Stalker program, but being a Technician was laughably easy, like his brains had been programmed for this. Every single problem solved itself in front of his eyes, every single equation worked. He built a human body from scratch, and it didn’t take long before Romeo opened his eyes and smiled at him. 

And then…both his and P’s arms needed fixing sometimes. Romeo’s body had to be maintained. Venigni needed help and they were stuck in the hotel for some time, and then Venigni reopened his factory…

Carlo wasn't sure when he had finally laid his sword down and accepted his destiny to walk in his father’s footsteps. But he had, for this new family he had now, for his brother, for his lover, for new friends. 

And he knew, without a doubt, that Lea would have been proud of that. 

Carlo sighed, picking his cup again and reaching for the newspaper. He had dwelled in the past long enough. It was time to focus on the present. 

There was only one newspaper in Krat nowadays, and it only had black-and-white pictures. The picture in the front page was a bit blurry, besides, and so it took Carlo a while to recognize the metal arm and silver hair. 

 Carlo stared at the picture for a full minute. 

Then, calmly, he put it down and went to fetch his old sword. 

“ROMEO MONAD, WHEN I’LL GET MY HANDS ON YOU I SWEAR-”

Chapter Text

P sighed. Carlo glanced at him but then turned back to his own book. P made a face but opened his. 

It was not fun: the book was a classic and he had to read it, Carlo said so, but it was boring. There were no dragons or princesses or magic, just an old man and the sea. It even said so in the title: The Old Man and the Sea. So far the man had only talked about fishing. 

Usually P would have abandoned the book by now, opting to read something nicer, like fairy tales or books about nature. Those fascinated him: he loved human imagination, loved how it could stretch above everything he knew. And he loved to read about nature’s miracles: it was amazing to see how everything linked together. It gave him hope that one day Krat would recover from everything the alchemists had done. 

But Carlo had set his mind into the idea that he had to get a proper education. And that meant boring books. Usually P would ask Romeo to veto, but Romeo had been very silent and meek after Carlo found out about the incident in the zoo. He had not even joined them in the library, opting to go for a “refreshing walk”.

P knew he was actually picking up supplies for a date. Romeo had planned a picnic on the roof, with roses and wine and a sunset. P had vowed not to kill more crocodiles when his brother was on a date. Life was not fun without Romeo around. 

P still didn’t understand why Carlo was angry. He had taken down several beasts bigger than that crocodile and survived just fine. And he had even had his shield with him. 

But because he had no support, P sighed and opened his book again. The old man was going fishing. Great. 

“Master Carlo?”

Both brothers raised their heads.

“Yes, Pulcinella?” Carlo asked and closed his book. The puppet butler straightened his already perfect posture. 

“There are a few gentlemen who have come to see you and Master Pinocchio. They’re in the lobby.”

Carlo arched an eyebrow and looked at P. He tried his best to look innocent. “Did they say where they came from?”

“They said they’re from the Krat Zoo, sir.”

Carlo sighed. “Very well. Take them to the study, please, Pulcinella.”

“Very good, sir.”

Carlo grabbed P’s sleeve just when he was about to bolt. “Ah-ah. You’re coming with me and you will explain very nicely what you did with that crocodile, is that clear?”

P nodded sulkily. 

The gentlemen waiting for them in the study were familiar: they were the same ones who had tried to talk to him before Romeo appeared. 

They made P nervous. He was more used to corpses and mutilated humans, than real, living, breathing human beings. Especially those dressed in suits. 

Thankfully Carlo did not seem to have any problem.

“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen”, he said and offered his hand. “I’m Carlo Geppetto, and this is my brother, Pinocchio.”

“The pleasure is all ours”, the first man said and shook Carlo’s hand. “I’m Francis Durand and this is Antonio Lambert. We have come to talk to this fine gentleman who helped us to take care of that little…incident.” He eyed P with the same interest he had done in the zoo. He took a step closer to Carlo.

“Oh, not to worry”, Carlo said and smiled calmly. “My brother is an excellent swordsman. Though I wish he would be a bit more careful sometimes.” He glanced at P, who stopped himself just in time from glaring. People in polite society did not glare, Carlo had said. 

“Oh, there’s no doubt about it!” Mr. Durand said and laughed a little. “We actually came here not just to thank him, even though that would be worth the trip itself. We came to offer him a job.”

“A job?” Carlo repeated and glanced at P. This time he couldn’t stop himself from tensing.“Yes. As a guard. We are in need of a new guard in the zoo, somebody to help control the animals and make sure guests do nothing inappropriate.”

“I see”, Carlo said slowly. Then he turned to P. “What do you think?”

P should have known Carlo would make him do this. His brother always forced him to talk to new people, it was a surprise he had managed to avoid it this far. And there was not even Romeo to save him.

“I can’t accept”, he said finally, hoping it wasn’t too impolite. “I’m sorry, but I have a job. I’m a lifeguard.”

Carlo smiled at him reassuringly. He had probably done a good job then. “My brother means he works as a bodyguard in Venigni factory”, Carlo then explained to the gentlemen. “I’m afraid he cannot accept your generous offer.”

How Carlo did it? P wondered when the gentlemen exclaimed their disappointment and understanding. How could he use words so easily, when P could barely tell people what he wanted and didn’t want?

When Pulcinella led the men out, Carlo turned towards him and smiled. “You did well. Come here.”

P let out a relieved huff and walked straight into his brother’s arms. Carlo’s touch still soothed him. Maybe it was because Carlo was his creator just as much as father had been, or that he had been born from Carlo’s soul…but being this close always made him calm down, stopped his skin from itching, his heart from pounding, his breathing getting too fast. Carlo was safe. Carlo was home. 

But now he had a question.

“Carlo? 

“Yes?”

“Why did you say your name is Geppetto?”

Chapter Text

The Red Lobster was the first restaurant which opened its doors in Krat after the Frenzy. 

It was fitting, considering that it was also the first restaurant ever opened in Krat, Romeo thought when they took a seat. He ordered a toasted ham sandwich like always, and for a second it felt like old times when he sneaked here to eat with Carlo when Charity House’s menu didn't suit their tastes.

Carlo opted for a lobster, that spoiled brat, and P wanted a ham sandwich like Romeo. He would want to try Carlo's lobster, Romeo knew, and Carlo would let him. It was almost impossible to resist P’s puppy eyes. 

The food came soon and it was just as good as it used to be. P tried Carlo's lobster but didn't like it. He then devoured his chips and casted wistful looks to Romeo's plate until he caved and shared his. 

Then they heard a screech.

P was already on his feet, reaching for his weapon when Carlo pulled him back down. He, the pianist, had realized the source of the sound faster than Romeo and P.

Two men stood in front of the pub’s piano, shaking their heads. “I'm afraid I cannot play”, one of them said. “I don't have any idea how to fix it. You have to ask for a Technician.”

“Where would I find a Technician who knows how to fix pianos in this city?” The owner of the pub asked, shaking his head. “You can go Matte, I'll send you a word when I get it fixed.”

The other man left quickly, like he was afraid to be put in the kitchen to wash dishes now he couldn't play. Carlo hesitated but then stood up and approached the pub keeper.

“Excuse me? I'm a Technician and I could take a look.”

The man's face lit up. “Would you, my good sir? Please do! It cannot hurt, seeing in which state the old thing is.”

“Do you have any tools?” Carlo asked and opened the lid. “I need a—”

A wrench was put into his hand. 

“This. Thanks, P.”

Romeo frowned. “Do you always have a wrench in your pocket?” he asked P.

The boy shrugged. “Carlo needs it all the time.” 

It didn't take long for Carlo to fix the piano. The delighted barkeeper gave them free dessert, and later P who was always in a good mood after some ice cream, wanted to play piano four-handedly with Carlo. 

Carlo tried to resist but well. It was impossible to say no P’s puppy eyes. And a few songs earned them free drinks, so Romeo didn't see a reason to resist. 

So they played, in perfect harmony, like they only had only one soul instead of two. 

“Monster fights?”

“Apparently it's very popular in downtown Krat”, Venigni said with a helpless shrug. “People trap two monsters and make them fight each other. This gentleman here–”

“Will take the problem out of your smooth, soft hands”, said the Stalker with a bear mask. “One of our…pets managed to escape, that's true, and I'm here to take care of the problem.”

Carlo arched an eyebrow. “And what kind of monster are we talking about?” 

The Stalker shrugged. “It seemed to be some sort of mutated gorilla. You should stay away from it, pretty boy, this is a job for at least three Stalkers.”

Just when Romeo was about to grab Carlo in case he would attack the Stalker, the door to the Venigni's office opened and P strolled in. He had one of his masks on, the simple one that resembled a dog, and he was holding a sword that dripped blue blood to the carpet.

Romeo was not sure what happened between the brothers. But when P fixed his eyes to Carlo, he noticed that the older brother was smirking.

“It's done, master”, P said, in a quiet, monotonic voice and gave a deep bow. His brother waved dismissively.

“Good. Go stand there.” 

P obeyed and walked behind Carlo, still holding his sword. Carlo turned towards the Stalker, smirking.

“It seems like you lost your pet”, he said, sounding every inch like a spoiled rich boy. “In the future I advise you to keep them away from the factory.”

The Stalker stared at them. Romeo was certain that under that mask he was paling rapidly.

“I –what–have a good day, sir!” And then he left, without even bothering to close the door behind him. 

Carlo tskd. “Amateurs. He's not worth that mask.” He went to close the door. “P, put that sword away, you're leaving blood marks everywhere.”

“Yes, master”, P said with the same robotic voice he had used before. Carlo rolled his eyes. “Cut it out.”

P took his mask off and grinned. Romeo and Venigni stared at them. “What was that?” Romeo asked finally.

Carlo turned to look at him innocently. “What?”

“That master thing!”

“Ah, that”, Carlo said and exchanged a look with his brother. “Well, it's not bad for Stalkers to know I have Krat’s best swordsman in my command, is it?”

P nodded solemnly. “My master is so wise.” 

“P, stop that or we won't have dessert.”

“My master forgets there's ice cream in the freezer.”

“Carlo?”

“Yes?”

“What is all this?”

“Well. Okay. When you were out with Venigni, me and P decided to take a little stroll.”

“And?”

“And we might've gone to the park.”

“And?”

“And there might've been a man who was going to drown a bunch of puppies in a pond.”

“And?”

“And I might've distracted the man while P took the puppies and ran.”

“You stole a bunch of puppies?”

“Come on, he was going to get rid of them anyway! We'll find them homes. Just…that one seems to like Jump, don't you think? And besides, P has a cat, I can have a dog.”

“Oh my god, I cannot leave neither of you alone for two minutes–”

“Oh, calm down. Pick a puppy."

Chapter Text

It was late at night, but Eugenie couldn’t bring herself to stop. 

The Grand Exhibition –well, to be fair, a Small Exhibition –would be held tomorrow. It held nothing of the first exhibition’s grandeur, and mostly focused on better ways to clean and rebuild the city. Still, It was her chance to show off her ideas to the remaining Technicians of Krat. There were even going to be a few outsiders who had been brave enough to travel to the destroyed city.

Carlo was of course going to be the star of the show. His sketches of puppets which didn’t use Ergo as a source were truly remarkable. And was it a surprise? He once built a human from scratch! 

Eugenie had watched when Venigni and Carlo rebuilt the King of Puppets. She had thought once or twice of offering support, but soon realized she was not needed. Carlo’s talents surpassed her own, even though he had very little experience and education. 

She wasn't jealous, though. It was amazing to see someone so talented work.

(Well. Maybe she was a little jealous.)

She sighed and rubbed her temples. The insistent headache had started a few hours ago, but she really wanted to finish this prototype. She had painkillers up in her room. She would be fine.

The hotel was blissfully quiet. They had all relocated here before the Exhibition, and it almost felt like the old times. Before Mr. Geppetto’s death, before the end of the Frenzy, before Carlo returned from the dead and Pinocchio had a name. Before…everything. 

But was it always so terribly cold?

The Exhibition was definitely small, with only a hundred attendees or so, but Eugenie still enjoyed every moment. 

Her sketches of practical, simple weapons meant to destroy the remaining frenzied puppets got a modest applause and a few questions. Her prototype that Pinocchio had agreed to show, got a more intense reaction, though Eugenie didn’t know if it was because of the weapon or the grace Pinocchio handled it with. 

Then Carlo stepped on the stage. 

The atmosphere changed immediately. People stood up to see the genius inventor better, and some even tried to climb to the stage, only stopped by Romeo.

Their interest was justified, Eugenie thought when she listened to Carlo talk about his newest invention. People had a reason to be enchanted. Carlo truly was his father’s son. 

But Eugenie already knew what he was going to talk about, they had practiced their shows together. And her headache was getting worse. She could slip back to the hotel, and nobody would be none of the wiser.

She left, not noticing that P followed her all the way home. 

“P?”

Eugenie’s voice reached P who was just about to cross the hallway. He stopped and looked at the girl.

Eugenie sat in her work station, leaning against it heavily. P could quickly see something was wrong: the girl grimaced and massaged her temples, like she was having a mighty headache.

“P, could you help me?” she asked quietly when he approached her. “I don't…I don't feel too good. I think I need to lie down.”

P nodded. He took the girl's arm gently and before she had time to react, swept her into a bridal carry. 

Eugenie yelped in surprise and looked like she was about to protest. Then a new wave of pain washed through her and she squeezed her eyes shut, going limp in P’s arms.

P carried her to her room on the upper floor and put her gently to the bed. “I'll go get Carlo”, he then suggested. If he had to guess, Eugenie had a migraine that would soon pass –Carlo had migraines sometimes too –but he still wanted to check with his brother.

“No! Don't bother him. I'm fine.” Eugenie swallowed. “There's a bottle on my nightstand. Can you pass it to me?” 

P frowned, but took a small brown bottle from the nightstand and offered it to her. Then he went to the bathroom and poured her a glass of water. 

When he came back, Eugenie was trying to get the bottle open. But her usually pedantic, steady hands were now clumsy and slipped several times. 

P took the bottle gently from her hands and opened it. Then he offered her both the bottle and the glass. 

“Thanks, P”, Eugenie said with a sigh. P watched her take a few pills with water.

“Do you need something else?” he asked then. She smiled and shook her head.

“No, thanks. I think I just need a good night’s sleep. Good night.”

“Good night”, P said but didn’t feel completely convinced.

In the paper, Romeo’s role in the factory was a Stalker.

In reality, he was a caretaker. He took care of the outside risks, yes, and made sure the security system worked, but he also made sure everyone slept and ate, and didn’t work themselves to the bone. With P’s carelessness, Venigni’s habit to get absorbed by his work, and Carlo’s stubbornness, that was a full-time job.

What he didn’t expect, though, was that he had to take care of Eugenie too. 

He sometimes made rounds around the factory, just to make sure everything was fine. The factory currently employed seven Technicians, including Eugenie, and was again Krat’s biggest company, which of course wasn’t much in the destroyed town. 

The Technicians’ offices were usually calm, with a bunch of people focused on their work. But…

“Hey, Romeo”, Eugenie greeted, surprised. “Did you need something?”

Romeo frowned and looked at the girl. Eugenie was bundled up in her thickest sweater, despite it being a nice, warm day. She tried to hide a cough in her fist when Romeo’s frown deepened. 

Then he sighed. “First the brothers and now you too, huh?”

She frowned. “What do you mean –agh!”

“You’re going to bed”, he told her firmly and started escorting her towards the elevator. “Boss’ orders.”

“But you’re not the boss–”

“You want me to tell Venigni?”

“Fine, I’ll take a nap. But I’m okay!”

There was a cool hand on her forehead.

“She’s really sick”, somebody said with a clear disapproval.  “What was she thinking? She should have stayed in bed, I could have taken over for a day or two.”

“Maybe she just wanted to finish a project. Like you.”

“That’s not a reason not to go to bed when you’re sick”, the first voice said firmly. “How many times have we told P that?”

“Is she going to die?”

“No, P”, Eugenie mumbled, “I’m not going to die.”

She opened her eyes to see a whole group of men staring at her. Pinocchio hovered over her bedside, concern shining in his blue eyes. Romeo stood in front of the door, his arms crossed. Carlo was standing in front of the vanity,  mixing some sort of medicine.

“What happened?” she mumbled and tried to get up, only to get gently but firmly stopped by P. “Why are you all here?”

“You passed out when I was taking you back to your apartment”, Romeo told him calmly. 

She blinked. “I –what?”

“You’ve been sleeping and/or unconscious for three hours now”, Carlo added from where he continued to mix the medicine. “The doctor was here, Venigni went to see her out.” He shook a little bottle in his hand and it changed color from pink to green. He smiled, satisfied, and then approached the bed. “Drink this, it will make you feel better.”

Eugenie felt too tired to resist. She took the bottle and downed it in one go. It was slightly sweet, but didn’t taste like anything.

Then she looked around. This wasn’t her bedroom, not in the hotel or the factory. “Where am I?”

“In the guest room in our apartment”, Romeo said calmly. “I brought you here, you cannot go home before you’re better.”

She stared at him. “But –why?”

“Eugenie”, Carlo said gently, “you’re sick. And you’ve been sick for days now, aren’t you? P told me you had a headache yesterday.”

“I’m fine”, she insisted. She didn’t know why she insisted when she clearly wasn’t. She just–

Carlo looked at her and frowned. Then he looked at his boyfriend. “She needs something to eat. Could you two make something?” he nudged towards P, who nodded determinedly.

Romeo looked like he was about to protest, but then he probably remembered Carlo couldn’t cook for the inch of his life. “Fine. I’ll make dinner. Eugenie, you want chicken soup or tomato soup?”

“I–” Eugenie swallowed her protests under Romeo’s firm gaze. “Chicken, please.”

He nodded. “Come on, P, let’s make soup.” The younger boy followed him out, still casting worried looks towards Eugenie.

When they were alone, Carlo sat on the chair next to the bed.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. 

She shook her head, her eyes firmly fixed on the bedspread.

He sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I could have taken over for a day or two.”

“Yes”, she mumbled. “I know you could have.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want to be useful ”, she cried out.

He frowned. “What do you mean?"

“You don’t understand”, she sniffed. “You are –-you are Carlo Geppetto! Giuseppe Geppetto’s son! Everything is so easy to you, you built a human from scratch! And you don’t even like being a Technician!”

He looked surprised. “Well, no, but–”

“But this is my whole life! I have nothing else. I’ve never wanted to be anything else. If I’m not a Technician, what am I?”

Perhaps it was her illness, but tears started to pour into her cheeks. She was so tired of this. So tired of trying to achieve the same that was so natural to Carlo.

Then a handkerchief was pressed into her hand.

“Eugenie, you’re so much more than a Technician.”

She blinked. “Like what?”

“You’re our friend”, Carlo said softly. “ P’s friend. You took care of his weapons, armed him when he was all alone against the whole Krat. That’s a debt I can never repay you. And you are Spring’s owner, and you taught P to dance, and you read books with me…Eugenie, you are our family.”

“And what comes to…father”, he continued. “Yes, I inherited his talents. But I also inherited his stubbornness, and some of his darkness. You, however, are bright. You might design weapons, but you would never hurt anyone. You always try to help, never hurt. You are a good person.”

She dried her eyes. 

Her whole life she had longed for a family. A brother she had forgotten, parents she didn’t remember…

But now she had a new one. She had Carlo, who was stubborn enough to pull people back from the dead. She had Romeo, who would protect her to the inch of his life. She had P, who shone so bright even though he had seen so terrible things. And she had Venigni, who would gladly give his life for them. 

That wasn’t the family she had dreamed about. But it was the one she had. 

“Carlo?” she mumbled. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I could have some orange juice?”

Carlo grinned. “Sure. I advise you to use this to your advantage. As long as you are sick, Romeo will do anything for you. You just have to sneeze and he’ll come running.” 

She grinned. “So I could make him make that chocolate cake again?”

“That one that takes five hours to make? Sure.”

Chapter Text

Even weeks after they moved out of the hotel, P couldn't settle.

The boy had sulked the whole time they packed, his arms crossed, his eyes wary. Not even Eugenie taking him to furniture shopping or Venigni asking what kind of wallpaper he wanted in his new room could make him relax.

Their new apartment was on the third floor of the factory. It had three bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, dining room, study (which Carlo quickly claimed) and two bathrooms. It was obviously smaller than the hotel but a lot more convenient. Romeo was more than happy he didn't have to walk three sets of stairs just to get a glass of water.

Because the apartment was rebuilt and brand-new, they got to choose everything. Even P could be coaxed to choose some furniture and decorations, but he still didn't stop missing the hotel. 

And he stopped sleeping. 

First Carlo thought it was normal. P still had loads of nightmares and moving apartments had made them worse. But then it seemed like P had stopped sleeping altogether: he didn't even try to sleep, and came to breakfast with such black circles under his eyes he looked like a raccoon. He often napped during the day, usually in the living room.

When days turned to weeks and P still wasn't sleeping, Carlo got worried. He dragged P to sleep in his and Romeo's bed once or twice, but they all knew it wasn't a permanent solution.

Then, one night, Romeo woke up to nature's call. He dragged himself to the bathroom and when he came back, he noticed light under P’s threshold. Was he still awake?

“P?” Romeo called carefully and opened the door a little. “Can't you sleep?”

He blinked. 

Every single light in the room was on. The brass lamp in the ceiling, the little lantern in the nightstand, even the candle on a desk. The whole room was full of light.

Romeo blinked a few times more. Only then he noticed P, sitting on his bed and looking at him tiredly. 

It took a while before Romeo got over his confusion. “Is this…have you slept like this every night?”

P nodded. 

“Why?”

P bit his lip. Maybe Romeo should wake up Carlo. He could drag answers out of his little brother.

“It's dark here”, P said finally. “Darker than in the hotel.”

Suddenly Romeo understood. 

Hotel Krat was never completely dark. Sure, there were light-blocking curtains and all, but the hallways were always lit, as was the lobby. There was always at least a little bit of light.

And P was not used to darkness.

Romeo rubbed his neck. He should probably find a solution to this. But it was late, they had to get up early, and P looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

Romeo sighed and extended his hand. “Come on. Let's go to bed.”

Carlo grumbled a little when they climbed to the same bed, but fifteen minutes later they were all soundly asleep.

“All lights?”

“Yeah. Everything. No wonder he can't sleep.”

Carly sighed and ran his hand through his hair, making it even more messier than usual. “Okay, then. Maybe I could design some sort of dim light–”

“Hi!”

Eugenie joined them in the hallway they were standing in. “Carlo, if you have a moment I would like you to see my new motor, I think it's ready for a test drive-” she frowned. “Are you too okay? You look tired.”

“We're fine”, Carlo said and stifled a yawn. “I have to work from home, though. I just came to pick up some stuff. P's still sleeping.”

Eugenie looked confused. “Still? Is he sick?”

“I think he has insomnia”, Romeo said and then told her what had happened during the night.

When he got to the end, Eugenie's eyes widened. “Oh gosh, I have just the thing for that. Wait here!”’ and she dashed towards the stairs.

Romeo stared after her, but then he too yawned. “Why aren't we like that anymore?”

“I know, Lea would be so disappointed.”

“They're called fairy lights", Eugenie explained. 

P looked at the bright little lights she had hung on the ceiling. “Fairy?”

“Yes. I guess people think they look like lights fairies could use”, Eugenie chuckled. “You think this could help you sleep?”

P bit his lip. “I can try.”

“P! Breakfast!”

Nothing happened. Romeo glanced at Carlo. “I think the lights were a success.”

“Too much so”, Carlo grumbled and went to wake his little brother up. 

P was sprawled on the bed, still fast asleep. When Carlo nudged him he groaned and rolled around to bury his face into the pillow. “Go away.” 

“Nuh-uh. It's time to get up. Come on, Romeo made bacon and eggs.”

“Five more minutes.”

“It's never five more minutes, Pino, it's always at least ten. Get up “ 

“No!”

“Pinocchio, if you don't get up right this minute I will make you!”

“Father never made me get up this early!”

“Well, he was a piece of shit!”

“I saved Krat!”

“And I came back from the dead!”

“My arm is cooler than yours!"

“You take that back!”

Romeo sighed and made himself a plate. He wasn't going to eat cold food just because the brothers were pickering like kids. 

He had to ask Eugenie where she got the lights, though. Maybe there were different colors?

Chapter Text

Ever since he had turned into a human, P had unfortunately had to get used to the feeling of nausea.

The first time he had felt that was when he, despite Carlo's several warnings, had eaten three bowls of ice cream. He had been so achingly new, and hadn't understood that no good feeling could last forever. That was a hard lesson to learn when he threw out a litre of ice cream, Carlo scolding him while rubbing his back and offering him water.

There have been a few other times he has felt nausea as well. He still could handle more than most humans, but both the air in the mountains they climbed one weekend and standing in his hands for ten minutes did the trick (he didn't regret it though: it was so fun to stand on his hands, he hadn't been able to do that as a puppet).

And then there were times like…this.

Carlo called them panic attacks. It was a fitting name, P thought when he breathed deeply in and out and tried not to throw up his lunch. He certainly felt attacked. 

But he could handle this. He was fine. 

Besides, it wasn't like anything bad had happened. It was just–

Nevermind. He most likely wouldn't be able to handle this.

P had squeezed his eyes shut but opened them when the door to their apartment opened. 

“P?”

It was not his favorite voice in the world, but second best. Romeo. 

“P –oh crap.” Romeo rushed to him the second he saw him and soon P felt familiar strong arms wrap around him. “Easy”, Romeo murmured and guided them both to sit on the couch. “Easy, P. “

P let out a sob. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry”, Romeo said with so much gentleness in his voice P couldn't help but continue sobbing. “It's okay. You're safe and I won't leave you.”

Both Romeo and Carlo had learned very quickly to say those words when P had a panic attack. The more human he became, the more he was terrified of being alone again. During his first moments alive he had been alone, and the feeling of loneliness had followed him though his journey in the destroyed Krat. He had had some people, of course –Eugenie, Venigni, Antonia –but most of the time he had been alone, facing horrors he couldn't comprehend, spending most of his time in a broken city with only Gemini for company. It was really no wonder he still often woke up to the sound of his own cries.

He was better now though. Until that one thing in a paper he had to sign had gotten him off the trails again.

Pinocchio Geppetto.

That was stupid. It was his name after all.

Carlo had explained this to him weeks ago, after those men from the zoo had come to see them. Geppetto was their father's surname and as his sons, they inherited it. Carlo didn't like the name either, but had decided not to change it. He had said some stuff about cleaning their name and their father's sins but Pinocchio hadn't really understood that. He was just happy to have the same name as Carlo.

But now…

Puppet of Geppetto.

Geppetto's puppet.

What a beautiful puppet you are!

Compagno.

Clever one.

Pal. 

Stalker. 

Carlo.

“I just hate it”, he mumbled, his eyes closed. 

“Your name?” Romeo asked. 

“No. Not it.” P took a deep breath. He had to make Romeo understand.

He loved the name Pinocchio. Carlo had named him when he realized he didn't have a name, and P had immediately accepted the name and adored it. He still did. Pinocchio was proof there was somebody who cared for him enough to name him, enough to give him the name of their favorite book.

Not that it was often used. Most people called him P for short. Carlo often said Pino. He only used Pinocchio when P was neck-deep in trouble. 

“I used to be called…Geppetto's puppet”, finally explained to Romeo. “Or puppet of Geppetto.” 

A puppet. Geppetto's puppet, his creation, his thing–

“Oh”, Romeo said softly. 

“I didn't like it”, P mumbled. “I didn't like being his thing, even when I… didn't understand.”

He hadn't understood, which was exactly what Geppetto had wanted. He hadn't understood he was used to killing people who deserved to live. He hadn't understood he was nothing to Geppetto but a tool. 

He hadn't understood anything, except that father would be disappointed if he didn't do as he was told, so he did.

Until once, he refused. 

“You were never a thing, Pino.” Romeo held him close, so close P could feel his heart pounding. “You were a human being, even when you had a puppet's body.”

“Not to him”, P said tiredly. To his relief, the feeling of nausea had subsided but now he felt exhausted. Panic attacks were more tiring than defeating monsters had been.

“I know”, Romeo said and held him tighter. “Me neither.”

They were quiet for a while, but then Romeo spoke. “I have an idea.”

P raised his head and looked at him. “What?”

“Why don't you pick yourself a middle name? Something that is completely yours. You know, like Carlo has Camillo.”

That was true. Carlo's whole name was Carlo Camillo Geppetto. P knew the name Camillo came from his mother's name and didn't tease him about that. 

Well, at least not much.

“Maybe”, he said. “I could…I could try.”

It took some time and effort, but eventually P decided on a name.

Carlo had named him after his own favorite book. P still loved his name and didn't want to change it, but he wanted his middle name to reflect who he was as a person.

So when he finally signed his contract to the Venigni factory, it had the name Pinocchio Peter Geppetto.

Chapter Text

One sunny Saturday Romeo got an idea. 

“Hey, we should go to a beach. You know the Black Seaside? It used to belong to the alchemists, but it’s abandoned now. People go there all the time, even Eugenie was there one weekend.”

Carlo thought it over. They didn't have any other weekend plans, and it would probably do some good for them to get out of town, even for a few hours. “Sure. Why not? P! Don’t hog the bathroom!”

The bathroom’s door opened and the best swordsman of Krat shuffled to the kitchen, wearing Carlo's old pyjama pants and an oversized t-shirt that had the text ‘I love cats’ in front of it. Romeo wondered, and not for the first time, how it was possible that P and Carlo had once shared a soul, even though briefly. Carlo liked comfy clothes too, but he was way too snobbish to wear a shirt like that.

God, how Romeo loved him. 

“We’re going to the beach”, Carlo told P when the boy sat down at the breakfast table and poured himself cereal.

P stopped in the middle of pouring and stared Carlo. “Beach”, he repeated flatly.

“Yes, beach. Have you ever been to the Black Seaside?”

Romeo had once thought that Lea made the best unimpressed stare in the world, but he had to admit that P would be a considerable rival. The boy stared at his brother like he had grown another head. “You want to go to Black Seaside.”

Carlo arched an eyebrow and poured himself another cup of coffee, even though he normally drank just one. “Yes? It used to be part of the Alchemists’ hideout, I know, but it should be fine now. Lots of people go there.”

“I won’t”, P said firmly and poured sugar into his cereal. Carlo stopped him after the third spoonful. “Yes you will.”

“I won’t!”

“You will!”

“Fine, but I won’t like it!”

“Yes you will!”

Romeo sighed. 

“Do we have everything?” Carlo asked and peered at his bag. “Sun lotion, water, snacks, towels, swim trunks…you got the tram tickets?”

“Right here.” Romeo showed him three tickets. Carlo nodded, satisfied. Then he called for his brother. “P! We’re leaving!”

Pinocchio’s door opened and the boy appeared in the living room, still looking grim.

“Are you ready –no, P, you won’t take that.”

“Why not?” P protested and looked at his arm. Carlo sighed. 

“Because that certain arm fires explosives, P. You’re not taking that and that’s final. Go change to your normal arm.”

P glared at Carlo but then turned around and marched towards his room. “Fine!”

“And leave your sword home too!” Carlo yelled after him.

“I don’t like this.”

“Yes, P, that’s important information for us all, thank you for sharing it for the fifteenth time." Carlo turned the page. 

The Black Seaside wasn’t full of people, but it wasn’t empty either. A few dozen people had come to enjoy the nice weather and warm water. Carlo had to admit he enjoyed the atmosphere of Krat nowadays. Those who had survived through Petrification Disease and Puppet Frenzy were no longer trying to leave the town, but make it a better place. 

And their savior sat on the beach towel in blue swimming trunks and glared at them. 

“Come on, P”, Romeo coaxed. “See, there’s a little kiosk there. Let’s go buy ice cream, okay?”

P narrowed his eyes but just like Carlo had thought, couldn’t resist the call of ice cream. Carlo turned another page. “Bring me some lemon sorbet if there is any.”

For a moment, when P ate his ridiculously big strawberry-hazelnut-marshmallow ice cream, there was peace. Carlo enjoyed his lemon sorbet, his book, and the sun. Romeo went to swim, then came back and laid his head on Carlo’ stomach. Carlo complained about the wet hair and sand on his skin, but Romeo just laughed. 

After some time, their eyes slipped shut. 

“I cannot believe we lost him.”

“He cannot be far”, Romeo said optimistically. “He –P!”

To Carlo’s immediate relief, he saw P walking towards them. His silver hair had been put into a ponytail and he looked, if not happy, at least content.

“I told you”, he said the second he saw Carlo. “The beach is dangerous.”

Carlo arched an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“The beach is dangerous”, P said solemnly. “I just saved a girl from drowning.”

Carlo frowned. Then he  noticed a group of people standing a few feet away. They were all gathered around a shivering young woman, who had a towel wrapped around her. One of them, probably the girl's father, looked around until he spotted P.

“We cannot thank you enough”, he said the second he got close to them. “My little Dora would have been lost without you, my good sir. How can I ever repay you?”

Carlo watched his brother clamp up like a shell. He sighed but then suddenly, P spoke. 

“It was nothing. I just saw her in time, is all.”

The man nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Thank you again. We must go now, we have to get poor Dora somewhere warm.”

When the man turned around and left, Carlo noticed that his daughter had gotten over her shock and was now eyeing P with poorly hidden interest. Carlo grabbed P’s arm and marched him towards Romeo. “We’re leaving!”

“Aaww, why?”

Chapter Text

Going back to the Opera House was not fun but it was necessary.

Venigni was sure one of Geppetto's diaries was there: an important one, one that would shed light to the Frenzy. When asked, P too remembered seeing something like that in the library. He and Carlo could go there, get the book and get out. Easy-peasy. 

Romeo had tried to reassure Carlo –albeit rather faintly –that he was fine with going back to the place he had died, but Carlo refused to listen. He could easily handle this with P, and Romeo should -would- sit this one out. 

It had taken some time and convincing, but eventually Romeo had agreed. So the brothers left. 

For once in their life, things actually worked out: the book was where Venigni had said it was, the last remaining monsters had left, the hostile puppets had been removed by the new ones made by Carlo and Venigni. They got the book and left.

In the courtyard, Carlo headed straight to the Stargazer. He knew that if they were not back in time, Romeo would come to look for them and he wanted to avoid that by all means.

But then he noticed P was not behind him. 

“P?” To his relief he noticed his brother standing a few feet away. “P come on, we have to go–”

Then he saw what P was looking at. 

In honor of the happiest days of our family, because of her presence. I still miss you, Camille. -G.G

Carlo had seen the statue before. Of course he had, he was there when it was first revealed. It had been one of the few moments he felt sympathy towards his father.

But their grief had not united but separated them.

The statue didn't look like mother, not like Carlo remembered her. To be fair, he only remembered bits and pieces: her smile, her soft hands, her laughter when he said something funny. But those were child's memories. Carlo wished, and not for the first time, he could've gotten to know her as an adult. 

But P had not known her at all.

Carlo glanced at his brother's face. P had gotten better with facial expressions but his face was still often blank. But now he looked…wistful.

“What was she like?” he asked.

Carlo wasn't sure what worried him more: the question or the sadness in P’s voice.

“She was…nice”, he said finally. “Gentle. She encouraged everything I did, everything I wanted to be. She taught me to play piano and draw. She told me stories and let me climb into bed with her and father if I had a bad dream. She kissed me every night and sneaked me a snack if I didn't like dinner.”

Then Carlo cursed himself. Why did he say such things? They were true, but not what Pinocchio needed to hear when he was glancing at the statue with sad, yearning look in his perfect face. 

“She sounds nice”, he said. 

“Yeah”, Carlo said quietly. “She was.”

When P spoke again, his voice was quiet, careful.

“Do you think…she would've liked me?"

Carlo thought about it. Really, he did.

What would his mother have said if she found out her husband made a puppet that looked like their dead son? That he called the puppet ‘son’ and made it do dangerous tasks until he tried to use it for the purpose it was created for: to bring Carlo back?

He knew what she would've said.

And he also knew she couldn't have been able to see P if Carlo was gone. He knew she would've destroyed P herself.

Unless…

Unless she had seen what Geppetto had refused to see: that P was not Carlo's replacement but his brother, their second child. 

Carlo decided he wanted to believe she would have been able to see it. That she would've understood when their father had been blind. That she would've known how to love P as a son, not as a replacement.

P waited. He wasn't crying but he was definitely sad, and so Carlo wrapped his arm around his shoulders. 

“I think she would've loved you”, he said firmly.

Chapter Text

P often followed Carlo when his brother travelled around Krat fixing stuff. He kept curious strangers and beggars in bay and handed Carlo whatever tool he needed.

Lately though, Carlo had become suspicious.

“P, can you hand me the number 5 screwdriver?” he asked one day when he was repairing one of the biggest puppets in town. It was one of P’s victims actually, the gentle police puppet. 

The screwdriver was handed to him. Carlo stared at it. 

“P.”

“What?”

“I don't have the number 5 screwdriver in my tool box.”

“Yeah I know.” 

“So where did you get this?”

“I had it in my pocket?”

“You had –how much junk you carry in your pockets?”

“Just important things!”

“Damn”, Romeo said later that night. “We're out of baking powder. I have to run to the store.”

“I have some”, P said helpfully and handed Romeo a jar of baking powder.

Romeo stared at the jar. “Where did you get this?”

“I had it in my pocket.”

“Had it –okay, cool. Don't tell Carlo, okay?”

Venigni sighed deeply when he looked at the drawings he and Carlo had laid on the biggest table they could find in the factory. “I'm afraid rebuilding the city will take months. If only we had some Moonstones –even half ones –”

Three items were dropped on the table.

“You can half them if you want”, P said and returned to cleaning his sword.

For a moment the room was silent. Then Carlo spoke.

“P.”

“Yeah?”

“Where did you get three full moonstones?”

“I had them in my pocket.”

“For goodness sake, what else do you have in your pockets?”

“A donut.”

“A –what?”

“P, clean your room!”

“In a minute!” the silver-haired boy yelled to his brother and then promptly turned back to his magazine.

Carlo rolled his eyes and opened the door to P’s room, expecting to see pure chaos.

He didn't.

The room was full of stuff, alright, but it was in perfect order. P’s collection of Stalker masks was hung neatly on the walls, his weapons were stashed on the closet, and on the floor…

All the things P had collected were brought here. Tools Carlo used at work, baking supplies Romeo needed, an extra pair of glasses Eugenie used, loads and loads of things Venigni needed in the workshop…

There were other things too, of course. A collection of cool rocks. A guitar. A few feathers, all different kinds. Neatly folded candy wrappers. 

Carlo felt more than saw P approaching him. When he turned around, he saw his brother looking at him with worried blue eyes.

Carlo sighed and wrapped his arm around his brother. “We have to get you a trunk or something. Where you can keep your things.”

“Are you mad?” P asked. 

Carlo frowned. “Why would I be mad?”

“Father…didn't like me collecting things. He said it was stupid and I had to focus on my work.”

Carlo wondered, and not for a first time, if kicking his father's grave would make him feel better. 

Eventually he decided it wouldn't, but it was close.

“It's not stupid”, he said then and was rewarded by a hesitant smile. “Come on, let's go get you that trunk."

Chapter Text

Carlo had always hated errands but now they were ten times worse.

As Lea’s apprentices, they had usually bought and cooked their own food (meaning Romeo cooked: Carlo couldn't cook for his life and Lea only knew how to make good things taste bland and bland things bad.) Carlo had hated hopping from shop to shop and then walking back carrying heavy grocery bags, following cheerful Romeo.

Now, however, he thought longingly about that time. At least back then he didn't have a grumpy little brother following them.

“For the last time, P, I'm not getting you a new grinder, you already have eight that work just fine”, Carlo said firmly. “And no, you don't need a new sword either.”

“I don't have any swords”, P grumbled and shuffled his feet behind them.

“You have a sword right there!”

“But it's an old one! It's–”

Whatever P was about to say, was lost under a scream.

In a second the almost cheerful atmosphere in the market had changed into chaos.People were running in all directions, some hid under the stalls. Children started crying.

It didn't take long for Carlo to realize what was going on. A mutilated monster approached the market, holding a part of…itself in its hand that it was using as a lasso to grab people. Blue blood dripped from it every step.

“Damn”, Romeo said.

P didn't say anything. He looked at Carlo.

Carlo hesitated, but nodded. P unsheathed his sword and started to run towards the monster.

Carlo watched him go with complicated feelings. On one hand, he knew P could handle himself. The boy had slaughtered hundreds of monsters like this and came out just fine.

On one hand, a part of him -and not an insignificant part –wanted to wrap Pinocchio in a blanket and never let him go outside again.

“Should we go help?” Romeo asked, his scythe already in hand. Carlo wondered when they would stop carrying weapons with them every time they went out.

He shook his head. “We would just distract him. He's not used to fighting with help.” He still unsheathed his own weapon, just in case. But he didn't intervene.

Pinocchio moved with absolute grace, in that fluid motion that made it look easy. Carlo still found it weird sometimes that P had created from him, but had surpassed him as a swordsman a long time ago. 

Suddenly, when P continued fighting, Carlo started to think about something. Maybe P could have a new grinder after all. 

He got distracted from his thoughts, however, when P made one clear cut to make the monster's head fall off. With that, the whole thing fell with a giant thud.

For a second the crowd was quiet. Then it exploded.

“The best swordsman of Krat!”

“Our savior!”

“New Legendary Stalker!”

The last one made Romeo flinch. Carlo did the same.

He kept his eyes on his brother in case P needed saving, but the boy seemed to enjoy the attention. It was only when people tried to touch him, that he flinched and turned pleadingly towards Carlo.

Carlo stepped in and gently but firmly took his brother's arm. “We must be going”, he said to the crowd. “Thank you.”

“Are you the Legendary Swordsman’s brother?” somebody asked.

Carlo nodded calmly, gathering as much authority in his voice he possibly could.”I am. Now excuse us, we really must be going.”

And with that, he led P away.

On their way back, Carlo's thoughts were still occupied by that grinder. It could be used in all kinds of situations, not just fighting against certain type of monsters. Maybe he should go talk to Venigni before dinner…

“Carlo, do you want to carry my sword?” P asked. 

“No, P”, Carlo said absentmindedly, not noticing the worried look in his brother's face. “It's your sword, you should carry it.”

“What about those flowers?”

“No, P. You carry your own junk, we've talked about this.”

“Let's make dinner”, Romeo said quickly, noticing the distressed look in the younger boy's face. “P, help me make pasta, okay?”

When they got to the apartment, Carlo put the groceries away and told P to go wash up and clean his sword. Then he took his notebook and started to sketch the grinder. 

Romeo made simple pasta with spinach. When it was ready, he asked Carlo to set the table.

Reluctantly, Carlo put his notebook away, only to be stopped by P. “I can do it”, the younger boy offered, biting his lip anxiously.

Carlo arched an eyebrow. “Alright then.” He turned back to his notebook, making a mental note he had to check apartment later. P usually acted like this when he tried to smuggle a new cat in.

When the dinner was served, Carlo realized he was ravenous. He made himself a sizeable portion and tucked in. “This is good. Parmesan?”

“And little garlic”, Romeo confirmed. Then he glanced at P. “You don't like it, Pino?”

Carlo frowned. 

P rolled the pasta around his fork aimlessly, not even attempting to try it. Usually at this time he was already asking for seconds. “P, what's wrong? Are you sick?”

P turned to look at Carlo, who was startled by the determination in his eyes. “I won't kill monsters anymore.”

Usually Carlo could easily read his brother's thoughts, but this time he had completely lost track. “What?”

“I won't kill monsters anymore”, P repeated. “Or –or anything else.”

Carlo exchanged a look with Romeo, who looked just as confused as he felt. “Okay. Why?”

“So –so”, P struggled with his words. “So you can be better than me!”

Okay, now Carlo was confused. “Why should I be better than you?”

“Because you wanted to be a Stalker. And now I am Stalker…and you're mad!”

Carlo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ready to untangle yet another mess in his brother's head. “I'm not mad at you, P. I would never be mad for something like this.”

P's lower lip started to tremble. 

Carlo stood up and reached for his little brother. P stepped into his hold immediately, burying his face in Carlo's shoulder.

“I'm not mad”, Carlo said again. “I'm sorry I made you think so. What you can do –its’s amazing, P. The whole Krat should thank you for saving them. I just want you safe when you're doing it, okay?”

P took a deep breath and sniffed. “Okay.”

“Good.” Carlo hugged P a little tighter. His brother was an inch or two shorter than him. Geppetto had not remembered his son's height.

Or perhaps he wanted to do something that was easy to control. 

They stayed like this, until Carlo felt a bigger form wrap around them both. 

“I think we should have dessert”, Romeo said.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a careless man who lost his son.

The man couldn't accept this. And because he was a a great Technician, so great he was often called Master of Puppets, he built himself a new son. A better, obedient one, who followed his every command. 

But this was not enough for the puppet master. He wanted his first son back, so he demanded the second one to give up his heart. 

The second son refused. He fought for his life and won. And when he held his dying father in his arms, he cried his first tears.

Then he returned back to the place he had learned to call home, to people who he had learned to call friends.

But his friends all left. The city was safe now, they explained, so they no longer needed the puppet's protection. They left, and the boy was alone.

He wandered around in his destroyed home, wondering where to go, what to do. But eventually he realized there was nothing for him to do now he had fulfilled his purpose. So he spent his days in his father's office, staring at the portrait of his brother, until rust and rats overtook him and he closed his eyes for the last time.

“P? P!”

P opened his eyes and gasped. 

He was breathing, he realized when he sat up and looked around frantically. He was breathing, and he was sweating, which meant he was no longer a puppet. He was a human, with all that came with it. 

He was also crying. 

“Oh, Pino.” Carlo wrapped his arms around him and only then Pinocchio realized his brother was there with him. Carlo was here, Carlo was alive. He hadn't left Pinocchio alone.

“I had a dream”, Pinocchio told his brother between hiccups. “That I fought you –and I won –but when I returned to the hotel everyone just left me–”

“P, it's okay. I'm here. I won't leave you.”

Carlo was there, and Carlo stroked his back and spoke soothing words. Usually that was enough to calm Pinocchio down. But not this time.

“Carlo, do you think they would have left me?”

Carlo frowned but didn't stop stroking his back. “What do you mean?”

“If I…If you hadn't woken up and I was still a puppet, do you think they would've left me? Eugenie and Venigni and…”

“No”, Carlo said firmly. “P, it was just a dream. Eugenie wouldn't have done that to you. And you know Venigni, he would've probably thrown him over his skinny shoulder and dragged you out of the hotel himself if you wouldn't leave with him.” 

Pinocchio laughed. It was a bit wet but it was progress. “Or he made Pulcinella do it.”

Carlo grinned. “Exactly. Now come on, let's go to bed.” 

Pinocchio bit his lip. “I think…I can stay here.”

Carlo looked surprised. Pinocchio didn't blame him: usually when he had a nightmare, he always climbed in between Carlo and Romeo. Romeo didn't mind, he just patted P's shoulder and went back to sleep. But P was better at this whole human thing now he was almost eight months old. He could sleep in his own bed. 

Especially when his brother was just across the hallway. 

“Well, okay then”, Carlo said finally. “But you know where we are if you need us. Get some sleep, okay?” he ruffled P’s silver hair, straightened his blanket and left. P heard Romeo's sleepy voice and Carlo shushing him.

He lied back down and pulled the blankets over him again. It was fine. He was home.

When he fell back to sleep, he only dreamed of cats.

Chapter Text

“Carlo.”

Carlo kept his eyes closed. 

He didn't want to wake up yet. Something unpleasant nagged in the back of his skull, some bad memory. Or maybe it had something to do with the next day. Maybe he had a big test today, or a difficult mission with Lea–

“Carlo. You need to wake up.”

Carlo opened his eyes and found himself staring at the sky. 

But that couldn't be right. He shouldn't be seeing the sky. He should see ceiling in Rose Estate, or in the apartment he shared with Lea and Romeo, or–

“Carlo. Listen.”

 Carlo listened.

First he wanted to deny it all–things couldn't have happened like that, he couldn't have died, and even his rotten father wouldn't do such things –but in the end Carlo knew what the voice told him was true.

He had died. And now he had been brought back, for one particular reason.

You have a brother. Take care of him.

Carlo got up.

His body felt odd, so odd he wanted to scream, but it became more familiar with every step. He started to feel his legs again. His scalp itched when hair grew back to his bald head. His skin felt first cold and then hot when blood started to flow again in his veins.

By the time he got to the boy, he almost felt like his old self again.

The boy was kneeling. He held their father's corpse in his arms.

Giuseppe Geppetto’s eyes were closed. That was a small mercy, Carlo thought when he crouched down. Not for him but for his sons. 

The boy cried. And not just cried, but wailed. He was clearly in pain, all sensations rushing to him: the cold stone under his knees, the cold air around them, their father's blood in his hands–

Carlo was gentle but determined when he forced the boy to let go of their father. Then, without hesitation, he picked the boy up and carried him to the Stargazer, where blue butterflies flew around and around and around.

Eight months later Carlo woke up to the same feeling he had felt in the Abbey.

He got up quietly, careful not to wake up Romeo, and went to the living room.

She stood in front of the window. Carlo knew she wasn't really there: this was just a picture of her, a projection.

“Carlo”, she greeted him, a smile on her face when she turned around.

“Sophia”, Carlo answered. He didn't know what else to say, so he said nothing.

She didn't seem bothered. She looked around in the apartment, the bookshelf full of Carlo's books, the little knickknacks P had collected. “You are happy”, she commented softly.

“Yes”, Carlo said. They were happy: they had been very happy for months. “It was you, wasn't it? You woke me up.”

He didn't think he had to clarify: she knew he didn't mean tonight, but that evening months ago when he opened his eyes in Arch Abbey.

“Carlo, do you know how wishes work?”

Carlo shook his head.

Sophia circled the sofa and sat down, holding her hand for him. Carlo accepted the invitation and sat down next to her. 

This close it was difficult to believe she wasn't really there: he could smell her perfume and see wrinkles in her coat. She smiled at him, like she knew what he was thinking. 

“All wishes in Krat come true”, she said calmly, “but often different ways people think. For example, your brother begged for help when your father died. He begged for somebody, anybody, to help him.

The stars could have done numerous things. They could have alarmed his friends, or bring your father back. But they chose you, Carlo. They knew it was you who could best help him.”

Carlo arched his eyebrow. This much he had managed to find out himself. But there was something else, something she wasn't telling her. “If the stars woke me up, then why did I hear you?”

“Oh, Carlo”, Sophia said, laughter in her voice. “You already know.”

Carlo stared at her. “You're…you're a star.”

“Yes”, she agreed calmly. “And so are you.”

He shook his head, more in bewilderment than denial. 

It was true, he knew it. He had known it ever since Rosaura came alive after he wished for a friend. He was a Listener, just like his mother had been.

And top of that, he was a star. 

Or, a part of him was.

“Listeners are descendants of stars who came to the Earth from the sky”, she explained. “They were curious stars who wanted to know what Earth was like. They could never return to the sky, but they fell in love with humans and their children were all Listeners.” 

Carlo nodded, dumbfounded.

She looked at him with a sigh. “You must wonder why I'm telling you all this.”

He nodded again.

“Carlo, Pinocchio’s wish was that brought you back from death, just like it was his father's wish that turned him into a real boy. But Pinocchio is growing more independent. He doesn't need you that much anymore.”

“No”, she added quickly when she saw his face. “You won't cease to exist. Pinocchio will always need you a little bit, you're his brother. You shall both live a natural life. But now that you no longer need to fulfill his wish, you will notice some…changes. I came to warn you about those changes.” 

“Like what?” Carlo asked. Then he realized. “You mean I will hear wishes too?” 

She nodded softly. “Yes. Mostly those who are already close to you. You have to be careful with this skill, Carlo. It's difficult to tell how and when to fulfill wishes, and doing this wrong can cause horrible consequences.”

She rose up. “It will take some time for this to happen. Pinocchio still needs you. I will visit again when your powers grow.” 

She looked at the hallway, a wistful smile on her face. “Take care of Clever One for me. You're already doing a much better job than I ever did.”

“Why won’t you visit for real?” Carlo asked. “He would like that.”

“We'll see”, she said, still smiling. “Good night, Carlo.” 

And with that, she was gone.

Carlo stared after her for some time.

Then he went back to bed.

Chapter Text

It wasn't until they approached the hotel that  Carlo realized the boy couldn't talk.

He already knew things he wasn't supposed to: he knew that the boy was his brother, even though he had never seen him before. He knew that the boy had just gone through a gruesome transformation from a puppet to human. He knew that it was this boy's wish that had brought him back from the dead, and he also knew what that wish had been. 

Help me, please. It hurts…

Unfortunately Carlo also knew why the wish had brought him back, not their father.

But there were still quite a lot of things he didn't know. The boy's name, for example.

“I call him pal”, the Gemini lamp said helpfully when Carlo asked for the boy's name. The boy didn't say anything, just shook his head and looked confused.

“That's nice”, Carlo said, frowning. “But that's not a real name. Didn't father really give you a name?”

The boy looked at him with worried blue eyes and shook his head. 

“Of course he didn't”, Carlo said with a tired sigh. “But you need one.”

The odd instinct was still guiding him and he knew not to ask if the boy had an idea. He didn't. It had never occurred to him he could own any other names than son.

Carlo thought quickly. It was maybe a bit silly, but…

“Your name is Pinocchio.”

The former puppet's face cracked into a smile. 

Soon Carlo started to learn things about his new brother.

Pinocchio was shy, even around him: he loved to be touched, loved Carlo's arm around his shoulders and hand in his silver hair, but he rarely asked for it. If Carlo wasn't still guided by this odd instinct, he probably couldn't tell how desperate the boy was for affection. 

Pinocchio still couldn't talk. The other residents told Carlo he had said some words before, though rather clumsy and clearly monotonic, but it seemed like transformation from puppet to human had made him forget words altogether.

Carlo taught him some, at night, when they were together in Pinocchio’s room because the boy was too scared to sleep alone. He said words out loud slowly and clearly and Pinocchio tried to copy them.

He got better, slowly and carefully, often still stumbling and speaking so quietly Carlo could barely hear him. It seemed like talking hurt his brand-new vocal chords, so Carlo didn't push him to say more than a few words at a time. 

The other thing he learned from his brother was that he loved to collect things. 

Most of the stuff the boy had was weapons or other defensive items, meant to help him in a fight, but he had some other things too. Masks taken from people he defeated. Vinyls he liked to listen to over and over. Clothes. Carlo had to fight a wave of nausea when he realized some of them used to be his.

Of course the old man had given the puppet his school uniform, of course he did–

But there were other things the boy collected as well. Some far more important things. 

Like the ball of Ergo P one day pressed to Carlo's hand and then took a step back, watching his reaction.

Carlo stared at the glowing bundle in his palm. He had seen crystallized Ergo before, but this one felt oddly familiar. Why, it was almost like—

Carlo.

Chapter Text

“Hey.” 

Pinocchio raised his head but didn't say anything.

Carlo sat down next to the boy. Pinocchio liked to sit on the stairs in the Grand Lobby: Carlo wasn't sure why, though he was inclined to believe Venigni's theory that the boy liked to bend his limbs the way he hadn't been able to do when he was still a puppet. 

They sat in silence for a while. Carlo was surprised Pinocchio didn't lean towards him but didn't push it. Usually the boy craved comfort only Carlo's touch could bring but now he sat silent and unmoving, and something in his silhouette told Carlo hugs wouldn't be welcomed right now.

Maybe he was cross. Carlo knew that these days were difficult for him. Carlo spent now loads of time trying to understand his father's blueprints in order to create a new vessel for the Ergo Pinocchio had given to him –for Romeo –and while he still gave Pinocchio considerable amount of attention and made sure somebody kept an eye on him when he couldn't, he knew he was still hurting him.

But he couldn't help it. He knew he had to try, or otherwise he would go insane thinking what ifs and then Pinocchio would be all alone again.

Or maybe he was just teaching Pinocchio that humans were selfish and had always been.

They stayed in silence for some time. Then Pinocchio jerked a bit. Carlo watched him swallow, move his tongue around in his closed mouth, trying to form words that were so difficult in the slippery, tangled mess that was human body–

“Why do you…think I turned a human?”

“Into a human”, Carlo corrected gently. “And what do you mean? You know why, I told you this. Father made a wish to a star–”

“But father didn't want me. He wants…wanted you. Why couldn't…you turn?”

Carlo sighed. They had been over this, many times. “Because right then you were more human than me, Pino. The stars knew that the son father wished for was not a son at all, but a puppet. They granted his wish literally, by turning you into a human instead of turning me into a puppet.”

Carlo wasn't sure if Pinocchio understood. Maybe the whole idea of humanity was too complex to him: he couldn't understand that when Geppetto made his wish to turn his son into a human, the stars had known that out of the two puppets in that arena Pinocchio was much closer to humanity than Carlo. It had taken Pinocchio's own wish to retrieve Carlo's soul from the dead and put it back to his deformed corpse. 

He was very glad the stars had cared enough about the assignment to fix his body when they shoved his soul back in. Mutated corpses weren't very reassuring.

“You would be better at this”, Pinocchio mumbled. His voice was still quiet and words difficult to understand, though Carlo didn't know how much it was because he was still learning to use his mouth and lungs and how much he was just being shy.

“Well, I practiced for nineteen years”, he said smoothly, ignoring how young he had been when he died. “You will get the hang of it eventually. Speaking of practicing, you want to go to the kitchen? I want a snack.”

Pinocchio looked at him, confused. “Should you no work?”

“Not, not no”, Carlo corrected, realizing immediately he didn't make any sense. He decided to drop the grammar lessons. Pinocchio would get it…eventually. “And I could use a break. Come on, let's make toast. I think we still have some peanut butter.”

He got up and held his hand for Pinocchio. The boy watched him and slowly a smile spread on his anxious face. He took Carlo's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet, eager to get some peanut butter. It was one of the first foods he had learned to enjoy.

Carlo led him towards the kitchen, forcing himself to stop thinking about the half-finished body upstairs.

He knew Romeo would understand.

Chapter Text

Romeo observed the boy across the hall. 

This wasn’t anything unusual: Carlo was upstairs with Venigni, designing new puppets, and Romeo usually took over the babysitting duty when Carlo was away. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do anyway and besides, he was still adjusting to his third body. Thankfully this one worked a lot better than his second one (though he had noticed Carlo had made him shorter than Geppetto). 

But it seemed like he wasn’t needed at babysitting either: Pinocchio was standing behind the girl called Eugenie, dutifully handing her tools she needed for a project. They seemed to be fine, so Romeo used the time to learn to flex his fingers again.

Until–

“Hey, P, pass me three nails.”

Silence.

“No, P, I said three nails. That's a handful. You know how to count, don’t you?”

Romeo frowned. 

Did he?

Later that day he tested his theory.

“Hey, P, hand me three towers”, he said casually when they were setting up their chess board.

The boy handed him two towers.

“Thanks”, Romeo said and put them in their places. “Can you give me two soldiers too?”

Three soldiers appeared on the board. 

“Oookay.”

Romeo lifted his eyes from the board. A pair of anxious blue eyes stared at him. 

He flashed a smile. “Don’t worry. Let’s play, okay?”

“What do you mean he doesn’t know how to count?”

“I mean he can’t. He doesn’t know the numbers.”

“Nonsense. He fought his way through Krat, of course he can count!”

“Why would he need to count to do that?”

“He can count, I’ll prove it to you.” Carlo whistled to his little brother. “Hey! P!”

The boy raised his head from his puzzle and frowned at his brother. “I’m not a dog.”

“Sure, sure. And what have I told you about bringing puzzles to the kitchen?”

“Romeo lets me.”

“Romeo would let you bring a chainsaw here. Hey.” Carlo held out his hand. “Can you give me five puzzle pieces?”

P frowned. He stared at the pieces in his hand.

Then, very slowly, he offered Carlo three pieces.

Carlo stared at the pieces in his hand and sighed. “You can’t count.”

P shook his head and bit his lip, like a child waiting to be scolded. Carlo sighed again. 

“Could you count when you were a puppet?”

P shook his head again.

“Then how did you fight your way through Krat?”

Pinocchio shrugged. “I either had things to throw or I didn’t. I didn’t need to count.”

Carlo let out another deep sigh. He had done that a lot lately. "Of course not. Daddy dearest probably didn’t think you need to. I’ll teach you, okay?”

“One. O-N-E.”

“I know what one is, Carlo.”

“You didn’t know that five minutes ago when I asked. What comes after one?”

“Three?”

“P, focus.”

“Hey, P”, Romeo called from where he was sitting, following the lesson and eating candy. “I have five pieces of candy, you can have three. How many pieces I have left?”

Pinocchio glared at his brother. “None. Carlo is greedyguts and ate all of them.”

“You ungrateful little—”

Eventually P learned to count. Carlo was pleased and relieved, but it didn’t last long: in five minutes, he decided P had to learn geometry. 

Romeo decided not to tell him it had taken him five bags of candy to teach P to learn numbers. Maybe they could use salt sticks for geometry?

Chapter Text

“Huh”, Romeo said, standing in front of the open cupboard. “I was sure we still had chili flakes.”

“We had”, Carlo said glumly behind him. “But then P had a little snack.”

Romeo frowned. “Of chili flakes?”

“And mozzarella, avocado, shrimp and leftover steak.” 

“That sounds gross.” 

“Believe me, it was.”

Carlo knew that his brother's new human body required lots of energy.

P was still a growing boy, and with his muscle mass he required loads of energy. So when the boy devoured three plates of lasagna and asked for a dessert, or a whole packet of cookies disappeared from the cupboard, Carlo didn't blink an eye. He just restocked and made sure to carry a snack when they went out.

He did, however, have some issues with his brother's flavor palette.

It started with ketchup. Carlo had tried to avoid that because ketchup would immediately ruin P’s taste buds and was gross, but Romeo, the absolute child, brought home a bottle one day.

After that P refused to eat anything without ketchup. Ketchup on his sausages, ketchup on his meat pie, ketchup on his soup…

Thankfully the boy once made a grave error of putting ketchup in his orange chicken and that was the end of the ketchup adventure. P now scoffed every time he saw a bottle of ketchup anywhere.

Then it was chili flakes. Chili flakes everywhere. Chili flakes on ice cream. Chili flakes on fresh fruit. Chili flakes on pudding.

“I remember when you thought boiled eggs were spicy”, Carlo said with an arched eyebrow and watched his brother ruin his oatmeal with chili flakes. “Are you sure about that?”

“Shut up", P said and put a spoonful of porridge in his mouth. “It's –ack!”

And that was the end of chili flakes.

The next phase, it seemed, was bizarre flavor combinations. P had a vague idea of sweet and savory dishes, but combined in a way that in a perfect world would be a crime.

“P, carrot cake is delicious. A turnip cake is an abomination.” 

“No, P, garlic powder and watermelon are not friends.”

“Have we learned our lesson about putting oranges and mint in the same dish?”

Eventually P calmed down. Carlo thought it was mostly because he took one of his bizarre dishes to work as a snack and got a thorough scolding from Eugenie, who had to air the whole office.

He still enjoyed cooking though, though mostly baking. Carlo didn't mind, especially when he learned to use salt as spice, not as flavor.

But they still had some work to do. For example, both P and Romeo still couldn't see the deliciousness of foie gras that was a beautiful and not at all an odd flavor--

Chapter Text

“I… don’t understand.”

“I bet”, Romeo said and took a sip of his beer. 

When a strange woman first ventured to the hotel and asked for P, both Romeo and Carlo were wary. But P recognized her immediately: her name was Belle, and she was a soldier P had rescued from the Grand Exhibition. 

Venigni confirmed the fact, and the five of them had a productive afternoon where Belle shared her news from outside and told them what kind of help they could get from the Army. It was not much, just like they had expected: but it was better than nothing. 

And now they were chilling on the roof of the hotel and enjoying the particularly nice evening. Romeo could understand why she was confused. The Krat she had left eight months ago was very different from where she returned.

But she also had another reason to be confused.

“I thought P was…a puppet”, she said looking at the boy who was toasting marshmallows with Carlo. Romeo watched P trying to grab the marshmallows, only to get scolded by Carlo. The younger boy pouted and took a strawberry instead. 

“He was”, Romeo agreed. “But then he made a wish to a star –or rather, his father did–and it turned him into a real boy.”

Belle stared at him, arching an eyebrow. “You know, I’m a soldier. I don’t believe in –whatever that was.”

“Carlo tells the story better”, Romeo admitted. P snatched a marshmallow and then ran around when it burned his tongue. Carlo rolled his eyes but passed him a bottle of water. 

“But they look similar?” Belle said clearly trying to humor him. “So P is like…Carlo’s clone?”

Romeo frowned. “Do they look similar to you? To me, not so much. And trust me, their personalities are definitely not the same.”

“How come?”

“Well, for starters, Carlo is usually calm.”

He was. Death, resurrection and taking care of his little brother had cured Carlo from making hasty decisions, something Lea had always scolded him about. Nowadays Carlo was calm, collected and planned things well beforehand.

P, however…

Well, P tried things first and regretted later.

“Carlo likes nice things.”

He did. Carlo loved simple, but fine things: good-quality coffee and chocolate, a glass of red wine, a good book. His taste in clothes was good but expensive, and he didn't allow sweatpants in the house. 

P, however, tasted everything but mostly liked sweet, sugary things. He hated coffee with a passion. He would have happily worn the same clothes for days, if Carlo didn't force him to change. His favorite shirt was pink and had a picture of a cat in it.

“Carlo likes to wake up early.”

He did. Carlo used to be a night owl, Romeo remembered, when they still lived in the Rose Estate. But nowadays he often woke up early, and Romeo was usually woken up by the smell of coffee and kiss pressed his hair.

P, however, would've slept until midday if Carlo didn't drag him off the bed. Romeo had often slept longer with P while Carlo, the annoying early bird, cleaned the house and did some work before forcing them to get up.

“And Carlo has some common sense.”

He did, nowadays. He definitely hadn't had it before, but death changed people.

“But P…”

Romeo watched P snatch another marshmallow and ran away with it. He then screamed when it burned his tongue, just like the first one had done. Carlo sighed deeply, reached for the ice box they had brought with them and gave the boy a popsicle. P put it in his mouth with the wrapper still on.

Belle stared at the incident with wide eyes. Then she shook his head. “Okay, I get where you're getting at.”

Romeo grinned. “Thought so. More beer?”

Chapter Text

Belle brought with her not only information from the outside, but also something much needed in Krat: vaccines.

Three days after her arrival she set up a little reception in the hotel and vaccinated everyone who wanted some shots. People were wary at first but Romeo showed a good example and soon they had a long line of people who wanted vaccines for their kids. 

There was only one problem: the Geppetto brothers.

Romeo knew Carlo didn't like shots. He had known it ever since Carlo arrived at the Charity House and had his first check-up. He still thought Carlo had broken his eardrums when the doctor approached him with a needle in hand.

Later it had taken all of Romeo's strength to keep Carlo to stay still when he got shots. Lea could do that with only her voice, though she too had to pour all her authority into it.

But now it seemed like Carlo had outgrown his hate of shots. He sat still, if not grimacing, when Belle gave him his vaccines.

Romeo thought he could finally breathe in relief. But then he saw P glaring at Belle and let out a tired sigh instead.

“For the last time, P, sit still!”

“You can't force me!”

“I actually can. Romeo!”

“I'm trying, he's slippery!”

P stopped his struggles briefly only to glare at Carlo. “I don't want needles!”

“Nobody wants needles!” Carlo yelled back. “But this is for your own good!”

Carlo and Romeo had both trained under Legendary Stalker for years, but in the end they were not Legendary Stalker. Perhaps Lea could have kept Pinocchio still, but Lea was not here, so eventually P slipped out of their grasp and escaped, despite Carlo's threats of what would happen to him if he did.

“I'll get him”, Belle announced and left with her patient. Romeo almost stopped her but then thought better of it. Let her fight for a change.

Carlo sighed and sat down on the floor. “What do we do? He needs his shots. He has so many rusty swords, he'll get Tetanus eventually.”

Romeo thought about it. “We could bake a cake and put some sleeping powder in the icing.”

“Horrible idea”, Carlo said and stood up. “I like it. You bake the cake, I'll get the sleeping powder.”

“Or, you guys could just tell him about vaccines.”

Carlo turned around. Belle and Eugenie walked in, sulking P behind them.

“We had a nice little chat”, Belle said. She went to her bag and took a needle out. She then prepared it calmly, gesturing to P to come closer. “You guys should try talking sometimes, it really helps.” She nodded to P. “Sit down, please.”

P still looked sulky, but sat on a chair in the middle of the room. When Belle approached him, shot in hand, he cast a pleading look at Carlo.

Carlo sighed but came to stand next to him. Belle pulled P’s sleeve out of the way and prepared the skin with disinfectant. Carlo felt metal fingers wrap around his wrist and stroked P’s hair with his free hand. P closed his eyes.

“All done”, Belle announced only a minute later. “See, it wasn't so bad, was it?”

P frowned and looked at the small plaster in his arm. “Will I get superpowers now?”

Carlo sighed. “No, P, that's what alchemists did. But now you won't get sick.”

P scrunched up his nose. “Fine. But now I want cake.”

“That's a good idea”, Belle said calmly. “But without any sleeping powder, please.”

Chapter Text

“This is all a mess”, Belle said.

Romeo shrugged. “I mean, kinda. But believe me, it could be a lot worse.”

Belle sighed deeply and stared at the papers. “I mean, sure, I can send some medical help and some materials, but do you even know how many people you have in this city anymore? Or which places are safe? We could try to evacuate but to be honest, that would most likely lead to–”

From the corner of her eye, she could see P move. To her surprise the boy left the corner he had been standing at and approached her, though his eyes were focused on Romeo.

Romeo seemed to understand his silent question. “You have to ask her, P.” 

Pinocchio turned to look at Belle. He bit his lip and looked less like a skilled swordsman she knew him to be and more an anxious boy. “Can I…do your hair.”

“Sorry?” Belle asked. She still wasn't sure what to think about this puppet turned into a human. Or if he even was a puppet turned into a human. Weird things happened in this city, sure, but–

P cast a pleading look at Romeo. The older boy smiled reassuringly.

“P wants to do your hair”, he explained. “He can sense you're stressed, and this is his way to help. It's okay if you don't want to, though. He can do mine.”

“Oh.” Belle considered it. She usually kept her hair in a tight ponytail, out of sight, out of mind.

But well. If it helped…

“Sure”, she said to the boy who offered her a shy smile. “Go ahead.”

It was a bit odd to continue a serious conversation when she felt hair being freed from a ponytail and an eloquent braid it was weaved into but well, if it helped Pinocchio and earned these guys trust, she could go through.

When their meeting was over, both Romeo and Belle had beautiful braids.

Carlo was in the middle of redrawing the city center, when he felt both flesh and metal fingers in his hair.

“Wait a second”, he said, circled his desk and sat down. “Okay, go on.” 

P immediately resumed his head massage. Carlo's hair was too short for braids or ponytails, but P still liked to touch it.

“Something wrong?” Carlo asked when he picked up his pen again. P didn't usually want to play hairdresser at work, he saved it at home.

“Just…not good”, his brother whispered. 

“Okay”, Carlo said. P still had days like this sometimes. Days he wasn't sure where he began and Carlo ended and having Carlo close helped him to separate them into two different beings. “Keep going.”

It helped his brother and to be honest, Romeo was not so keen on giving massages.

“P”, they'll be home in twenty minutes. Trust me.”

The silver-haired boy crossed his arms and glanced anxiously at the factory gates.

It wasn't often Carlo and Romeo left the factory without P. They made separate trips, yes, and sometimes they had date nights, but usually either in the hotel or at the roof of the factory. But sometimes P felt he should give his brother more space and had ushered him to go and have lunch with Romeo.

 Now he wished he hadn't.

Eugenie bit her lip, wondering what to do to distract her anxious friend. She could risk Carlo's wrath and let him try a new prototype or…

“Hey, you wanna braid my hair?”

P took his eyes off the door.

When Carlo and Romeo returned thirty minutes later, Eugenie's hair had been braided into a crown on the top of her head and P was huffing proudly.

“Are you sure about this, compagno?”

P nodded and raised the scissors. 

It was true Carlo had told him not to cut anyone's hair before he practiced with some puppets. But Carlo wasn't here, and P had been practicing, only…the practicing had happened with a sword and the customers had been deformed carcasses.

Still, he did a pretty good job. At least it was better than Venigni's own attempts to cut his hair. 

And if Carlo later wondered where his good scissors had gone, well, he didn't need to know.

"Feels good?"

P nodded. 

He sat on the floor in front of Carlo, who was sitting on the couch. This was the easiest way to do P's hair.

There wasn't much to do, though: P kept his silver hair short, similar to Carlo's. Carlo had suggested he grew it out several times, but it seemed P liked having short hair. It didn't get stuck on anything, he explained Carlo once.

Carlo gently combed through the hair. P leaned his head against the sofa and sighed.

"Carlo?" 

"Yeah?"

"Can I dye my hair?"

No. Absolutely not. You're a respectable gentleman, for goodness sake--

"Sure", Carlo said through gritted teeth. "What color?"

Chapter Text

First everything hurt.

He had felt pain before, sure, but never like this. He was lost in the sea of pain, surrounded by it: and it needed to stop, he couldn’t handle it, he would go insane –

Then metal fingers wrapped around his arm and the pain toned down, like somebody had clicked a switch. 

It still hurt but now that person held his arm, it was somehow muted: it was like there was a thin curtain between him and pain, not thick enough to keep it completely away, but enough to get him to his senses and on his feet. The person holding him tugged his arm and he followed quietly, not daring to risk them letting go. 

Slowly he started to pick out the pain: it wasn’t just somewhere in his body, not in his head or legs or inside him. It was everywhere. 

The rocks under the soles of his shoes were too harsh, too big. The wind on his face felt like a thousand needles. The sound of their steps was a cacophony. 

If this was what humans experienced every day, it was no wonder most of them were insane.

He didn’t have any idea how much time had passed, but slowly he started to put things together. 

The person who had saved him in Arch Abbey and brought him back to the hotel was Carlo. Pinocchio knew he should ask for more, should be curious about how Carlo was there but in reality, he did not care. Carlo was there and that was all that mattered. 

He was still in pain, but now it had different ways to torture him. There was no wind in Hotel Krat, or rocks, but there were bright lights and loud human voices and so many different textures he had already lost count.

He felt best lying in bed, not covered by a blanket by a thin sheet, curtains drawn over the windows. Like Venigni had said, it would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic: the best swordsman in Krat, the one who once took down a god, was now succumbed to cry and sob every time somebody opened the door and let some light in. 

He also had get used to different ways of pain his body could torture him with: hunger. Sneezes. And who had designed a bladder that needed to be emptied every few hours?

If it wasn't for Carlo, he would have already driven a sword to his new, messy heart.

But when Carlo was close, he felt immediately better. Perhaps his new, fragile soul could somehow hook itself to Carlo’s even though they were now separated: or perhaps he was just pathetic at this human thing and wanted somebody to hold his hand. 

In any case, with Carlo close the pain became bearable. He could sit up, he could eat, he even ventured to lobby a few times. And when Carlo held him the pain left altogether and he could fall asleep in his brother’s arms. 

Thankfully Carlo didn’t leave him often: he stayed in the same room with him, usually even in the same bed. And slowly, ever so slowly, the pain started to become bearable even when Carlo was a few meters away. At some point Carlo could go to the bathroom without Pinocchio biting his pillow to pieces, trying to bear the pain. 

That was another new thing he had to get used to: a name. He had never thought he would have one. But Carlo had wanted to name him so Pinocchio he was. He had to admit he liked it: it was nice to be…somebody. 

Days passed and slowly he started to come to terms with things. Father was dead. His last wish had somehow turned Pinocchio into a human. That had hurt like hell, and he had made a desperate wish for help that had brought Carlo back: and there they were, mismatched pieces of human, puppet and corpse that Ergo had first sewed together and then separated into two different beings.

Pinocchio wasn’t sure how much time had passed –he was still trying to figure out this whole day thing after all- but eventually he realized he no longer felt such pain. That he could walk, he could do basic functions, he even tried holding a weapon when Eugenie asked him to. 

But he never forgot the pain. And when a new clutch of survivors arrived at the hotel and one of them had a newborn baby who wailed…he knew perfectly how it felt.

Chapter Text

Romeo had bad dreams.

Days he dreamed of –of things: screams and laughter and knives cutting through his jacket, his skin–

Dreams of Lea's fingers brushing his cheek and pain in her eyes when she realized all hope was gone.

Carlo had bad dreams.

Dreams of body stiffening, shutting down, feeling heavy like it was made of lead. Dreams of betrayed look in Romeo's eyes when he was brought back to life again, and P’s cries when he cradled their father in their arms.

P had bad dreams.

Mostly he didn't dream of monsters or people trying to kill him: no, he dreamed of being late. Too late for Sophia, for Romeo. Too late to understand his father's plans, too late to get Carlo back.

Being late, and left behind.

Still, all of them found comfort the same way.

P usually laid in the middle. Carlo was on his right side and Romeo on his left. Carlo's hand usually rested on P’s hair or shoulder, and Romeo held Carlo's other hand over P.

They were a mess of tangled hair and limbs, and P kicked sometimes, but still, it was what all of them desperately needed.

Safe.

Together.

Chapter Text

Carlo opened the side door and let himself in.

The hotel had been his playground when he was a child and he knew it in and out. He had spent many rainy Sundays trying to find all those hidden passages Antonia always spoke of.

P probably knew all those. Carlo should ask him later. 

He sighed, walking down the stairs. He knew what he would find there.

P stood in front of the main desk, watching intently at the butler puppet in front of him. The puppet, like always, didn't make a sound.

“Here again?” Carlo asked, making sure he was far enough P couldn't grab him. His little brother could be skittish when startled.

P turned to look at him. His shoulders slumped. “He doesn't answer.”

“Welcome to Hotel Krat”, the puppet said, its voice devoid of any feeling. 

Carlo sighed and came to wrap his arm around his brother. “He'll come around, Pino, I'm sure of it.”

“Welcome to Hotel Krat.”

P hung his head. “But why hasn't he already?”

“Welcome to Hotel Krat.”

“These things take time”, Carlo said, trying to sound reassuring. “You have to be patient. Ego just has to remember itself, that's all.”

P looked at the butler puppet wistfully. “He loved Antonia, did you know?”

“Yeah”, Carlo said, swallowing thickly. “I know.”

P glanced at him. “Did you love Antonia?”

“I did”, Carlo said, glad they left the Polendina subject. “She was like a grandmother to me, I loved her very much.”

P looked at the side where Antonia's restored painting watched them. “I think…I think she loved me too.”

Carlo’s heart ached. The idea of family was still odd to P. They were family together, he and Carlo and Romeo, but it still felt unfair the only proper parental figure either of them had ever had was dead.

But now it was up to Carlo to honor Antonia's legacy.

“I'm sure she did”, he said, putting his hands on his brother's shoulders. “But come on, we should head back. Polendina is fine here, see? He loves to serve guests and the hotel is almost full.”

P glanced around. Carlo wondered what it had felt coming back here after some mission or another, knowing he could only catch a brief break before facing more horrors he was not ready for. Sometimes Carlo could see a glimpse of those times, just like he could see P's other memories from the time he had been a puppet. He supposed it was because their souls had only been separated after P had defeated his corpse. For some time, they had been one.

Carlo sighed, returning to present day. “Come on, let's go. Romeo promised to make lasagna for dinner.”

P gave one last glance to Polendina. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Chapter Text

Carlo didn't like beer.

He had tasted it before, of course, when he and Romeo first tried alcohol among their classmates. But by the time Lea finally agreed on taking them as her apprentices, Carlo had developed a firm dislike of the stuff. Lea and Romeo teased him several times when he chose wine over beer, but he didn't care, just called them savages. At least Lea shared Carlo's taste for red wine that made Romeo gag.

Because of his own experiences, Carlo should have known this time would come. But when it did he was hopelessly unprepared.

It took some planning but eventually they managed to throw Romeo a birthday party. 

Venigni, of course, had wanted to throw a party of the year, with fireworks and five different cakes. Carlo agreed on a small show and two cakes and then banned all kinds of spectacles, from a dancing girl jumping from a cake to a puppet singing opera. They had had enough of that, thank you very much. 

They had the party in the factory’s backyard. P and Eugenie hung fairy lights between buildings and Hugo and Pulcinella helped with tables. Carlo kept an eye on Venigni and distracted Romeo, so he wouldn’t catch the drift too soon. 

The party was cozy. They had only invited Hugo, Eugenie and Venigni, a few engineers from the factory and Belle who was having her last days in Krat. Romeo was pleasantly surprised and liked his gifts (a radio from Eugenie, a small dagger from Hugo, ridiculous amount of kitchenware from Venigni and hand-sewn coat from P. Carlo promised to give his gift later). 

The things they served were simple too. Cake, some pastries, and of course…

Beer. 

When Carlo realized the problem, it was too late.

At midnight party was going so smoothly, Carlo wondered if he could sneak Romeo upstairs early. Then Eugenie approached him, a slight frown in her usually calm face.

“Carlo?”

“Yes?”

"Has P tried alcohol before?”

Something cold ran through Carlo's spine. “No?”

“Then you might like to stop him, he's currently drinking his fifth beer.”

Carlo turned around and started to frantically search for his little brother.

He found P hanging out with Hugo, a brown bottle in hand. Carlo approached slowly, trying to find traces of being drunk in his brother's face but found none.

In the end it was not P who noticed him but Hugo. “Hey, Carlo, what's up?”

“Not much, what's up with you”, Carlo answered automatically, still staring at P. “P, how many beers have you had?”

P glanced at his bottle. “Six, I think?”

“Don't you think it's time to stop?”

P frowned. “Why?”

Carlo realized something. “Hugo, could you excuse us for a moment?”

Hugo looked confused but nodded and went to talk with Belle. Carlo turned back towards P.

“P, do you know what alcohol does to people?”

P stared at him. “What?”

Carlo took a deep breath. 

This was his fault. Of course it was. He should have taught P, of course he didn't know–

Suddenly warm arms wrapped around him from behind. “Hey”, Romeo said and hugged him tighter. “P, do you think I could steal your brother for a moment?”

“Sure”, P said, frowning. “He's being weird.”

“I'm not being weird”, Carlo protested. “P drank beer!”

From this angle he couldn't see Romeo's face but it didn't matter. He could feel him arching his eyebrow. “So?”

“What so? He had alcohol!”

“So what? He's had it before.”

“He's had it –what?”

“Yeah?” Now Romeo was definitely frowning. “I often make cocktails before we eat dinner, you've seen him drinking them several times. And Lorenzini does that too.”

“I thought you made them without alcohol!”

“Of course not. You want him to drink just sugar?” Romeo turned to look at P. “How many have you had?”

P looked at the bottle in his hand. “Six.”

“Stop at nine, okay? That's probably what your super body can handle.” Romeo waited for P to nod before turning back to Carlo. “Now, I believe you and I were in the middle of something.”

“Were we?”

“I think we were.” Romeo took Carlo's hand and started to pull him towards the exit. “Don't get me wrong, this is a great party, but the best part of birthdays is getting presents.”

"Who says I got you something?” Carlo asked, still reeling from the fact that his innocent little brother apparently drank beer and enjoyed it.

Romeo's smile shone like liquid gold. “Well, I just have to find out, don't I?”

Chapter Text

As time passed on, P grew.

He was still fairly dependent on Carlo, and got anxious if he didn't know where Carlo was, but he no longer constantly needed Carlo's company. He had developed a fairly normal friendship with Hugo, and Carlo was pleased to see he had started to mingle with some young Technicians as well. He and Romeo could now go to the city sometimes to have lunch or even dinner without worrying that P would burn down the house while they were away.

One particular Saturday Carlo wanted to go see the reopened Cathedral. P refused to go, explaining he had some rather painful memories from that place, and decided to stay at home. He had no qualms at Carlo and Romeo going, though: he was happy to stay at home with his book and latest obsession, puzzles.

Carlo was slightly worried –that was his standard setting with P, after all –but eventually he let it go and they went. The restored Cathedral was beautiful and they had a nice walk back to the town.

It was only when they returned home when Carlo realized something was wrong. Badly wrong.

“P?” He called the second they opened the door. “You want to go get lunch in town or cook here –what’s wrong?”

P stood in the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall. Well, standing was probably a wrong word. Carlo was quite sure that without the wall his formidable little brother would have collapsed on the floor.

“Don't feel good”, P mumbled when Carlo rushed to him. “Dizzy.”

“How long have you felt like this?” Carlo asked, while removing P's heavy Legion Arm and ushering him to the couch. “Does anything hurt? Do you have fever?”

“A while?” P said, his voice slurred. “It started when I drank that juice.”

“Juice?” Carlo repeated, frowning. “What juice?”

“This juice?”

Carlo turned around.

Romeo held a big glass bottle in his hand, staring at the liquid in the bottom. “Did you drink this, P?”

P frowned but then nodded. “Yeah, that's the juice.”

“Juice –this is gin. And it was almost full too!”

Carlo dropped P, who fell on the floor with a groan. “Gin? Why the hell did you drink gin?”

P managed to sit up and looked at Carlo , confused. “So? Father drank it all the time.”

“He what?”

“He was drinking that stuff every time I went to his office”, P said and leaned his head against Carlo's calf. Then he yawned. “I'm sleepy. And hungry.”

“No freaking wonder”, Carlo mumbled. He looked helplessly at Romeo who was no help: he was currently bent in half, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Half an hour later Carlo had finally convinced himself that because of P's perfectly honed body he did not need to see a doctor even though he drank almost a full bottle of gin. Romeo made a huge lunch, instead, once he recovered from his fit. After having three servings of pasta and drinking a liter of water, P passed out on the couch. He woke up three hours later, complained headache and then spent two hours doing crossword puzzles, his head resting in Carlo's lap.

When P finally went to bed that night, Romeo looked at Carlo and sighed. “We’re not leaving him again, huh?”

Carlo shook his head. 

“Babysitters?”

“Babysitters.”

Chapter Text

Autumns in Krat were usually rather mild, but this year cold air swept through the air and drove people indoors.

They still needed groceries, though, so one crisp Sunday morning Romeo suggested they would go to the market early. P was immediately on board, he loved the roasted chestnuts vendors sold and eventually Carlo agreed too.

When they were about to leave, though, Carlo frowned to P. “P, it's cold. Put on your scarf.”

P frowned back. “I'm fine. I got a jacket, see?”

“You need the jacket and the scarf. Come on.”

“I fought my way through Krat in–”

“In stockings, yes, I remember. I also remember you were a puppet back then. Wear a scarf.”

P rolled his eyes. “Fine, mom.”

Carlo stared at his little brother. “How do you –Who taught you that?”

“Everyone says you're the mom”, P said and wrapped his gray scarf reluctantly around his neck. “Everyone.”

“P, we've talked about lying–”

“He's a bit right, you know”, Romeo said, a smile tugging his lips. “You're the mom.”

“What –I’m not!”

“Carlo?”

Carlo hummed but didn't take his eyes off his work. “Yes?”

“I just realized I left some stuff to the Hotel”, Eugenie said, sounding a bit worried.  “And it's already dark so I wondered if P could come with me–”

“Take P, tell him to take his Aegis arm and some grenades. And tell him to put on a coat. And you too, put on a coat.” 

“That's actually the thing, I left my coat in the hotel–”

“Here, take mine.”

“Compagno, this is completely unnecessary.”

“I don't think so”, Carlo said and checked the thermometer. “You've got a temperature of almost 39 celcius, you're burning up. Stay in bed, and I'll send Romeo to bring you some soup.”

“But the work–”

“I can take care of it.”

“And my research–”

“Can wait for a few days.”

“Still, I am completely capable of getting up! Pulcinella, tell him.”

“I find myself agreeing with Master Carlo, sir”, the puppet butler said calmly and set a tray with painkillers and orange juice on the nightstand. “Permission to keep him in bed with any means necessary, sir?”

“Pulcinella–”

“I wasn't talking to you, Master Venigni.”

“I'm actually fine, mate–”

“You still can't walk a straight line”, Carlo pointed out. “And our head has barely stopped bleeding.”

Hugo stared at him with unfocused eyes. “But my place really isn't that far–”

“Still. It's not safe to walk in that condition. And we have a guest room. Romeo, go put fresh sheets there.” 

Romeo, who had been standing in the doorway, nodded and left. Carlo turned back to Hugo, this time holding a bottle of disinfectant and a cloth.

“Now”, he said, smiling in a way that made Hugo seriously doubt his decision to stay, “this does not hurt one bit…”

Romeo woke up to find he was alone.

He got up, not bothering to put slippers on and only stopped to grab his scythe before heading to the hallway.

He knew he was being stupid. There was probably a perfectly good explanation for why Carlo wasn't next to him. But after everything they had been through, he had started to think logic was a myth.

He checked P's room first. It was empty, but he saw light coming from the living room. He peeked in and sighed in relief.

Carlo lay on the couch, P's head pillowed on his chest. Carlo raised his head when Romeo came in, but otherwise stayed still.

“I didn't want to wake you”, he whispered when Romeo came closer. “But he had a nightmare.”

Romeo nodded softly. P turned his head and sighed. Carlo stroked his silver hair.

Carlo had not been like this when they were in school: no, being a caretaker had been Romeo's part, to keep Carlo from getting into trouble and pull him out of darkness he sometimes lost himself into. But with P, things had changed. Carlo no longer could allow himself fall: he was needed. P needed him so much even the stars had understood his wish.

And it wasn't just P: the whole Krat depended on Carlo's ideas, his skills, his perseverance. Without him the place would still be full of frenzied puppets and monsters.

Brotherhood suited Carlo, Romeo thought, but didn't said it out loud. He offered Carlo his hand instead. “Come on. Let's get him to bed.”

Chapter Text

Carlo sipped his coffee and watched P draw.

P was a mediocre artist: he didn't have Carlo's precise skill, nor Romeo's liveliness. He could sometimes describe details very accurately, but often it was impossible to tell what he meant without gentle prodding.

Carlo didn't like his brother's drawing sessions. P almost never drew anything nice: once or twice he drew Spring, but that was it. It took a while before Carlo realized it was because he just hadn't got many nice things during his first days being alive.

So, when P drew monsters and deformed humans and tortured Romeo, Carlo didn't stop him. This was his brother's way to process things, and Carlo wasn't going to deny him that.

P glanced at him anxiously through his silver hair and showed him yet another drawing. Carlo squinted a little when he tried to understand what was going on. “Is that the Archbishop?”

P nodded.

“Did he really drip blue stuff?”

P nodded again and looked at his drawing with clear disgust. “Ruined my jacket.”

Carlo let out a voice that was somewhere between amused huff and a sigh. “You have twenty jackets now, Pino, I think that should make up to that one. You want to draw another?”

P stared at his pen for a second and then shook his head. He chewed on his lip, deep in thought. Carlo let him think in peace, focusing on his coffee instead.

“Carlo…”

“Yeah?”

“Can you teach me how to draw Spring?”

Chapter Text

Pinocchio steps to the town square.

The air is getting colder: a wild wind blows through the streets, rattles the remaining leaves and makes Pinocchio glad he took his new coat. It's blue, his favorite color. Carlo had a similar jacket made but it's brown.

The weather might not be pleasant but there's still people in the streets even though it's late afternoon: a few ragged children play around the fountain, some shops are still open and a few people walk around in small groups. P even sees one or two walking alone, a rare sight in Krat.

Of course everything he sees is rare to him: there was a time, not even a long ago, when he was the only one walking through these streets. He was the last hope, the only one who could be sent here and come back unharmed, the last person who could survive the hellscape Krat had become.

And it wasn't like he knew any better. The destroyed Krat was the one he got to know, and this new, healing one is as strange to him as the destroyed one was to people who have finally dared to leave their shelters. 

It still feels odd to see so many people at once. Carlo has told him there's not much people in Krat anymore, only a few thousand in a city that used to house half a million, but for Pinocchio it's still plenty. He used to see only a handful of people, so realizing there's so many in the world is still a thought he tries to wrap his mind around. When he fought monsters, those people lived behind closed doors, sharing their diminishing rations and only venturing outside when it was absolutely necessary.

Suddenly P remembers Julian. He hopes he survived. He hopes he'll meet him again someday.

A closing shop on his left reminds him he should probably return home. He didn't have any reason to go outside anyway: he just wanted some fresh air.

He walks back to the factory, wondering idly what Romeo has made for dinner. But the first person he meets at the factory gates is not Romeo, but Eugenie.

“There you are!” the girl says, huffing like she's out of breath. “Where on earth have you been? We've looked all around for you.”

P frowns. “Why?”

Eugenie frowns back. “What do you mean why? You've been missing for half an hour. Carlo has turned the factory upside down looking for you.”

An unpleasant thought enters Pinocchio's mind. “Carlo is mad?”

Eugenie's face tells him everything he needs to know. She pats his arm in sympathy. “Good luck.” Then she cups her hands and shouts. “Carlo! He's here!”

There's a few rushing steps in the stairs and then Carlo appears. Like Eugenie, he's out of breath, and his usually neatly combed hair is disheveled. “What the –Pino?” 

“Yeah?” P answers warily, wondering if it's too late to turn around. 

“Where the heck have you been?”

“On a walk?”

“On a –did you tell anyone you were going for a walk?”

“...No?”

Carlo huffs. Carlo puffs.

Pinocchio takes a step back.

“Pinocchio Geppetto, if you take more one step towards that door I swear to God I will ground you–"

Chapter Text

It's a nice, normal evening. 

Carlo is lying on the sofa, his feet up and technical journal in his lap. He is muttering to himself, a trait he shares with his father, though Romeo would never point it out. 

P sits cross-legged on the floor, doing yet another puzzle. It's getting difficult to find him new puzzles: they already have every single one Krat's only bookshop has to offer. Carlo and Venigni have started to make him some. It's a good side business to the factory too.

Romeo is in the kitchen, finishing cacio e pepe, one of Carlo's favorite dishes. P likes it too but then again, the boy likes almost everything Romeo makes.

Romeo sprinkles some pepper on top and goes to wash his hands. “P, set the table, would you?”

P raises his head and frowns. “Carlo can do it.”

“Carlo has to open the wine”, Romeo explains patiently. “You don't like that, do you?” 

P hisses. He hates the sound wine bottles make when opened. He's slashed more than one bottle with his dagger when they make a popping sound. 

“Fine”, he says reluctantly and leaves his puzzle. “I'll do it.”

“Thanks, love you”, Romeo says. From the corner of his eyes he can see P shoulders relax.

He doesn't hear this too often, that boy. Definitely not as often as he deserves.

P opens the door and then stands still, watching her quietly.

Eugenie is used to this: her friend is not good with words or body language. It's fine, though. She has always preferred going straight to the point anyway. “Hi, P. You got my message?”

The boy nods. 

“Well, what do you think? I really want to go to that concert, but I know Romeo and Carlo don't want to go to the Opera House. You want to go?”

To her relief, P nods again. She doesn't usually care for music but this one is in her own language. She doesn't have many chances to hear it nowadays and she really wants to go, to hear the songs of her childhood and remember her brother. “Thanks, P, I love you.”

The former puppet looks at her stoically for a second before smiling hesitantly. “I love you too.”

“Compagno, wait for a moment.”

To be honest, he's quite proud of this. Oh, he has created masterpieces, but this one is different. It's personal: it's a gift for a friend.

Pinocchio turns around and comes to see him. He's learned some manners lately. He's almost seven months old now and acts more and more like a human being. For some reason, Venigni feels proud of him and his achievements: this feeling probably should belong to the boy's father but then again, the man never deserved it, so Venigni feels no guilt taking it to himself.

“Look”, he says now and shows Pinocchio a big, polished box.

Pinocchio frowns, then opens the lid.

A small smile appears on the boy's face when he realizes what's in the box. “A puzzle.” 

“Yes”, Venigni confirms happily. “It's over a thousand pieces and makes a very nice picture of your favorite subject. I do hope you'll enjoy it, my friend.”

Pinocchio looks at him for a second. Then, very solemnly, he says: “I love you.”

Venigni startles. He's heard those words plenty of times but–

Then he remembers who he is talking to and relaxes. “I love you too, compagno, you are my dear friend. Would you like to take this with you?”

“Hey Carlo?”

“Yeah?” Carlo asks, still stirring his evening tea. He likes to have some before bed, it helps him sleep.

P, who's on his way to bed, hesitates. “I love you.” 

“I love you too”, Carlo answers calmly, not skipping a beat. P needs this sometimes, the safety, the reassurance.

His little brother nods, smiles and goes to bed. 

Pinocchio steps up to the hill.

He hasn't been here after the visit with Carlo a couple months ago and he's quite sure Carlo hasn't visited either. There's nothing for him here anymore.

The feather is colder now and the flowers have died. P wishes he brought one with him but it can't be helped. He cannot stay long: Carlo will soon start to look for him.

He crouches in the spot where his father is buried and looks at the cold, dead ground.

“I love you”, he says quietly. He knows he will never hear those words back, wouldn't even if it was possible: but he cannot let go of them, not just yet.

He loves Romeo. He loves Eugenie. He loves Venigni. He loves Carlo.

And he loves Father, as painful as it is.