Chapter 1

The flash comes first - and even before the sound, Peppino feels a chill, knowing what will come and unable to stop it, and a split second later -

crack thoom

The sound rolls over him like an icy tide, his heart stuttering in his chest, every muscle in his body going taut. Thunder. It's only thunder. That's all it is. And even so, as the rumble fades, he has to remember to swallow around the tightness in his throat, to breath. To remember to loosen his fingers from where they've dug into his palms. At times like these, maybe it's a good thing his nails are bitten down to the quick.

He eases himself out of his frozen stance, limbs jittering. Walls, floor, ceiling. Forward. Walk forward. Towards the kitchen.

Dingy tile passes beneath him. The kitchen is dark, barely lit by the lingering fire in the oven. The storm has knocked out the power. Until it comes back on, Peppino's decided to hole up in here, where he can have some semblance of comfort. It's not as if any customers are going to show up in this weather.

That thought is, of course, interrupted by the jingling bell on the front door. Shit. Should he tell them he's closed? Maybe they just want shelter from the storm. He should lock up... As he peeks out from the kitchen to see who has entered, however, his prepared greeting dies in his throat.

"Gustavo!" His sous-chef turns from locking the door, sopping wet and carrying several grocery bags. His raincoat hasn't done much to help keep him dry. Even his mustache is dripping.

It's just the two of them. Peppino shifts to Italian. "What are you doing here? You should have gone home!"

"The restaurant is closer than my place." Gustavo shrugs, bringing his groceries to the counter and shrugging off his coat. "These were for here, anyway."

Peppino rifles through the bags. A lot of peppers and mushrooms (enough to tide them over until the next delivery), a jar of jalapeños (no thank you), and two sticks of salami (a snack). Peppino gathers the bags and sets to work putting the groceries away.

"The power could be on at your apartment," Peppino says. He doesn't want Gustavo to stay if he could be comfortable at home, instead...

"Maybe. But probably not." Gustavo shrugs, following him, far too complacent about staying in an unlit building with his boss.

Peppino opens a dark fridge just enough to reach inside, moving quickly so that too much of the cold air doesn't escape. An anxious thought creeps into his mind, and he begins to murmur to himself. "How long is this outage going to last? If the freezer thaws... My god, I hope nothing spoils..." They really can't afford that. He should have invested in a generator. Goddamnit.

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Gustavo eases, kneeling on the floor by the oven to check the fire. As he opens the door, a warm burst of air rolls over his face and Peppino's shins. The flame is low, but steady.

A flash, and another rumble. Peppino shivers, closing the fridge, and steels himself where he stands. If it was only the initial crashing and banging that bothered him, but no, the low rumble is just as unbearable. The way it... lingers, spending just enough time to creep into his skull and convince his animal brain he's somewhere he knows he's not.

There's a warm hand on his elbow, and Peppino nearly jumps out of his skin with a loud yelp. To his credit, Gustavo looks apologetic when he receives Peppino's glare.

"Sorry, sorry. Come sit with me by the oven. I'm sure the power will be back soon." It's dim, but Peppino can see the brightness in Gustavo's eyes. His panicking heart quiets, if only a little.

"...va bene."

Peppino had planned to find some candles to light, but maybe they don't need them. It's not worth the trouble, he tells himself as he drags a stool over and sits with a groan, knees creaking. Gustavo's sat himself on an old crate, rubbing his arms as the wetness from the rain evaporates in the dry heat.

Peppino isn't stupid. He knows (or at least, suspects) why Gustavo is here, and not at home. Gustavo thinks Peppino can't handle himself in a storm. He's gotten this far on his own. How did he think Peppino got along before Gus came into his life?

(Poorly. Very poorly. Peppino scoots his seat a bit closer to the fire, and to his friend, until their knees brush together. If Gustavo notices, he doesn't remark on it.)

Their easy silence is broken only by the occasional crackling of the fire. In the dark, time stretches long, and Peppino's fretting over the unpowered fridges only makes it drag slower. He shouldn't have opened the fridge. He wanted to put the groceries away but - they should have been fine, shouldn't they? Now everything in the fridge will thaw and wilt and he can't afford to replace it and Gus should've just gone home instead of shopping and they're going to lose so much money -

A bright flash and accompanying rumble break through his spiraling thoughts. Peppino bites the inside of his lip hard enough to hurt and exhales hard through his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Gus turn to look at him, and keeps his own gaze trained resolutely forward.

"...Peppino - "

Gus is interrupted by a strange, metallic thumping. It stops after a moment, echoing from some place they cannot see.

Already, Peppino knows what it is. He's heard it before. His fingers dig into his arm.

"What was that?" Gustavo muses. "Maybe the power is coming back on...?" He stands, making his way to fiddle with the lightswitch. Peppino doesn't bother to tell him it's useless.

"It's the vents," he says at last, as Gustavo jiggles the switch without result.

Gus turns to him. "Then, the heat...?"

"No. There's something in the vents."

Gus blinks. "Rats? Brick chased off all the - "

"Not rats." Peppino cuts him off. The thumping sounds again. Peppino's been hearing it now and then, usually at night, after Gus has left. Something fumbling through the walls, intent on raising his blood pressure, in particular.

Gus raises his eyes to stare at the wall, the ceiling, trying to pinpoint the noise. Which gives him a thought.

"Maybe The Noise, eh? " he jokes. Peppino just shakes his head.

"He's not the kind to sneak around in the dark. He'd rather just put a bomb on my doorstep."

A much louder, much closer bang sends a jolt through them both. Whatever it is, it's close. It's nearing the kitchen, and then - 

More thumping, and a pattering of feet (?) from inside the wall. It's right above them.

Peppino stands, and considers running to his room to grab his shotgun, but it's pitch dark in there (he should have lit those candles) -

The vent just above the oven rattles on its hinges. Gustavo jumps, skittering to Peppino's side. Neither of them move.

For a moment, nothing happens. Peppino barely breathes. And then, a clap of thunder lights the room up, rumbling through him, and as his mind reels -

"Peppino! Do you see that - ?"

A strange, lumpy shape. Something… gooey , and fluid, oozing through the grate and congealing on the other side.

Peppino smells bread.

It's all the warning he gets before the vent bursts open, tearing at the wall and pouring a large, dark shape over the back of the oven. It makes contact with the oven's chimney, and a high pitched warble fills their ears as the blob flinches away from the heat and rolls down the side of the oven onto the floor.

Weapon. He needs a weapon. His fists will do.

Peppino is charging forward before Gus or the intruder can react, his frayed nerves condensing into his arm as he delivers a strike into the undefined lump, sending it flying against the opposite wall. It sticks there a moment before slowly rolling downward, its body clinging to the wall like so much dough.

Peppino knows what it is. He knows what it is and he wants to be wrong, because it was supposed to be over , he was supposed to be done with all of it - 

The shape murmurs again, beginning to rise. The light of the flame flickers over its body. White, black, tan. The shapes shift, congeal, and a round eye pulls itself open to stare at them.

"Peppino," Gus says hoarsely.

The lump seems to remember itself. The eye rolls into a deepening socket, as another hole opens to allow a second eyeball to peek through. The dripping globs of doughy material form a nose, and below, a gaping mouth opens to reveal teeth much too large to be human. A shoddy recreation of Peppino's own face rises above a bulbous body on spindly legs, noodly arms drooping and dragging on the floor. It warbles and shudders, arms curling over each other.

"Peppino," Gus hisses.

The room lights up with a crash loud enough to shake the walls. Peppino is rooted in place as the shape across from them crouches and springs forward, toward -

toward Gustavo.

Peppino's nerves find themselves in an instant. He's rushing the beast before he can think, fist colliding with the side of its head and sending it tumbling toward the sink, where it lands with a bang. It writhes against the floor, trying to right itself, its cries strange and frantic.

Peppino steps forward. Gustavo. He has to protect Gustavo. His partner didn't have to fight these things back then, and Brick isn't here, so it's up to Peppino to get between him and -

and Gustavo's in front of him, creeping toward the flailing shape.

"Gus!" It's Peppino's turn to hiss, and Gus has the audacity to turn and shush him, finger raised to his lips. What does he think he's doing ? That thing is going to try to kill them -

Another flicker of light from outside. As the thunder groans over them, his double whines, voice shrill and eerie, arms wrapping around itself like doughy eels. Peppino's legs wobble, but Gus continues to approach it.

If his partner has finally gone insane, then Peppino can't help him. He should run back to his room and get the fucking shotgun, finally blast this thing to pieces once and for all so it can't haunt him anymore. Even so, his legs don't move.

"Hey there, amico, let's settle down..." Gus coos, switching back to English, arms held out. Is he really trying to speak to it - ?

The monster rolls over, eyes sagging wall-eyed in their droopy sockets before focusing on Gustavo. It gurgles, pushing itself up on its hands and feet, black maw gaping open. There's a flash outside.

"That's it, come on now - " The thunder crashes. Before Peppino can blink, the creature has pounced towards Gustavo. This time, Peppino can only cry out in alarm as Gustavo is thrown off his feet.

The two are sent tumbling towards the oven. They slow to a halt, the shuddering mass of his double's bloated body obscuring Gustavo from his view. His own legs are suddenly able to move.

"Gus!"

Before he can dig his hands into the beast's flesh to tear it away, Gustavo peeks over the creature's wobbling shoulder, small hands appearing to wrap around its body the best they can.

"Wait! Wait," Gus commands, and it's only the absurdity of what Peppino sees that keeps him from ripping the thing apart. The creature's head is buried in Gustavo's chest, face hidden, long arms roped around him. Gus pats the creature's back, settling his chin into the nook of its shoulder. "It's alright. I'm here." The creature burbles weakly beneath him, its moaning becoming quieter, its breath coming in wet puffs.

It's alright. I'm here.

Peppino remembers. As he watches the scene unfold before him, and Gustavo threads his fingers through the monster's scraggly hair, he can't help but think of himself in the monster's place. Of when Gustavo had done this for him.

His stomach turns.

"What are you doing?" Peppino asks, fists tight, something boiling inside him.

Gus glances at him, but doesn't respond. He rubs the creature's back, and murmurs something soft that Peppino cannot hear.

It's a monster, Peppino thinks. It doesn't need Gustavo's comfort . This fear is just a façade, a trick to get close to him. If it really is Peppino's double, it shouldn't be trembling like a child. It should know better.

Peppino's had enough of this. He reaches out to grab the monster and tear it away from Gus -

only to find his hand being smacked away. Gus is fully glaring at him now, and a cold sickness wells up inside of him.

"Gustavo! I'm getting that thing out of my restaurant!" His tone is harsh, but when his double adjusts itself against Gus, glancing sidelong at him with one droopy eyeball, he feels his own fear.

"Relax, Peppino. Everything's alright."

"No!" Peppino is louder than he intends, his voice bouncing off the walls of their little kitchen. The creature is fully looking at him now, a strange smile plastered on its face even as it clings trembling to Gus. "Why are you letting that - that freak touch you?"

Gustavo ignores him, only rubbing the creature's back in silence. The rumble of thunder is beginning to move away from them, but it still makes Peppino tense. He can see his double quiver under Gustavo's hands as it hides its face. Its whimpering has all but stopped. The kitchen is filled with the pattering of rain, and nothing more.

If Gustavo won't speak to him, then Peppino will busy himself with inspecting the damage to the kitchen. The vent above the oven is entirely busted, parts of the wall ripped away. Just another thing that won't get fixed. There's a crack in the wall where the creature was pummeled into it, and a dent in the metal sink.

The silence is long and uneasy. Eventually, Gustavo murmurs again, and Peppino hears his name - but when he turns to look, his partner's focus is entirely on the monster clinging to him. It has closed its massive jaw over Gustavo's shoulder, gnawing and slobbering without breaking the skin. It croaks in acknowledgement at Peppino’s name, pulling its mouth away and turning its gaze up towards Gustavo. Peppino feels ill.

His double turns its crooked eyes to scan around the room. Slowly, it unravels itself, rising on long legs once again. Peppino is a drawn wire - waiting for a strike. But instead, the creature turns and lopes away from them, towards the counter. With a gooey arm, it fumbles with the grocery bags Peppino had left there.

"Hey! Get out of there. That's not for you!" Peppino chides, his fear taking a backseat to his own irritation. As he approaches the creature, intending to snatch the bag away, it pulls out one of the rolls of hard salami.

"Hey!" Peppino attempts to grab it out of the creature's hand, but his double simply holds it above his head, looking down at him vacantly as he fumes. With another hand, it grasps at the handles for the drawers under the countertop, clumsily opening and shutting them one by one. While one eye stays locked on Peppino, the other rolls to view its own fumbling, searching.

"Stop that. You're going to break something - !" His voice catches in his throat as the creature finds what it's looking for. In its hand is a small, sharp knife.

He can barely hear the scuffle of Gustavo's feet as he closes the distance between them, can barely hear his name as the creature manipulates the knife in a hand far too big for the weapon it holds. He's ready. He'll tear this thing apart before it can do any more damage. Its gaze shifts from Peppino, and it brings its other hand up to -

to carefully cut a slice of salami.

Peppino feels himself deflate like a cheap balloon. Gustavo reaches Peppino's side, saying something Peppino still doesn't quite hear. He watches the creature's tongue dart out to snatch the slice from its fingers. Gross. It burbles, apparently pleased, before cutting another. Its blobby hand drifts down, startling Peppino into taking a step back, as it offers a piece to Gustavo.

After a moment of consideration, Gustavo takes it.

"...grazie."

His double hums something unintelligible, shifting on wobbly feet, before cutting another. Peppino jerks back as a gooey hand makes its way into his view. He says nothing, gaze flicking between the salami slice and his double's eerie stare.

When Peppino makes no move to take it or to refuse, the creature simply takes its hand back and swipes the piece into its mouth with its tongue once more.

Peppino sways on his feet, and leans on the counter. Thunder groans far away, and he doesn't have it in him to tense - he just feels woozy. He sinks to the floor, leaning against the cabinets.

His double babbles as it preoccupies itself. Gustavo's looking right at Peppino, but he can't meet his gaze.

"He's not here to fight." Gustavo says, crouching in front of him. Peppino stares at the floor.

"Pino," Damn him. "You look tired. Maybe you should go to bed."

Peppino's already shaking his head before Gustavo finishes. Not while that… thing is still here. Just how long has it been crawling around in his walls? He grimaces. He's been hearing that thumping ever since… since the Tower.

"I can't." Is all he says.

"I can watch the restaurant. The power will come back before morning." And the storm will be over. He doesn't say it, but Peppino knows he means to imply it.

Whatever Peppino's answer would have been, it's halted by the creature next to them piping up in broken Italian.

"Resstaa uurant . Watchthe wa - waaatch…" It tilts its head, peering down at them. "Ppeppinnooo. Watch it the the… lightsss."

Gustavo and Peppino stare up at the creature. Peppino's throat closes hearing that thing talk in a voice that's his but not, like a warped recording.

"W-what's that, amico?" Even Gustavo seems unsettled.

The fake grumbles, swaying. It speaks in English this time. "Tiiull… light... bbright." It crouches suddenly, startling Peppino once again as it puts itself on eye level with him.

Sitting on its haunches, it stares at him, eyes blinking independently of one another. The light of the oven's fire is dimming, and the flickering casts strange, dark shapes over his double's face. This close, its heavy, wet breathing is inescapable. He watches its tongue loll out, then swipe over one of its eyes. Sick.

"... What?" Peppino asks.

A goopy hand unfurls to reach towards him.

"Amicooo," it drawls.

Just before it makes contact, before Peppino slaps it away - the room is filled with a light that makes his eyes ache. He winches them shut, hissing, as a mechanical whine sounds from beyond the wall.

He hears his double startle and scrabble against the tile floor. As he blinks away stars, he finds that the light in the kitchen has returned, and the fridges have begun grumbling back into function. As he and Gustavo are preoccupied, the other "Peppino" crawls hurriedly towards the oven, clambering up the wall.

When they do notice its hurried escape, Gustavo calls after it, but it has already wedged its body inside the vent, its clumsy thumping disappearing into the walls as quickly as it came.

Chapter 2

Peppino can't move.

He has to run and he can't move, he can't pick his legs up fast enough from where they're dragging. He stumbles over his feet like a drunk, he needs to push forward, forward, forward. The barrel of the rifle is cold in his hands, his uniform drenched in sweat and grime, his neck hot and itchy where his collar chokes at it. Mud pulls at his boots, sucking his feet towards the earth. The sky is dark, lit only by flashes, and rumbles he knows are not thunder. He needs to go faster, but he can barely breathe, his body dragging like he's caught in molasses and didn't he already run past here before? Dirt walls on both sides, barbed wire above, everything is familiar, like a loop, chasing the way out over and over again, but he can't stop because he'll be caught - he'll be killed - he'll be an easy target for a bullet through the skull that will leave him another bloated corpse in the mud, like the bodies that line his path, sitting cold and heavy and warped, melted, tongue lolling out and eyes set too wide, skull torn open to show the meat inside, peering up at him with a face not quite his own and reaching for his ankles as he trudges by and he's going to die here he doesn't want to die he's going to die here -

there's a cold hand around his ankle he can hear the shriek of the mortar just before the bomb lands and

Peppino wakes up.

The cry that leaves him is strangled, animal. Awareness comes, and he slaps his hand to his mouth and bites - hard - willing himself back into reality. His heart is a hammer in his chest, pounding up into his skull and behind his eyes. The pain in his hand begins to break through, and his jaw unclenches, bit by bit, easing his teeth out from the meat of his palm. His shuddering breath rolls hot over his hand. He wipes his saliva off on the sheets, tucking himself under the covers, and takes stock of his surroundings - dark, silent, still. He's in his room. It was only a dream.

Peppino pulls the sheets closer, and in the silence, listens to his own heart's pounding, waiting for it to ebb.

There's a clatter from outside.

Peppino's entire body jolts, knuckles going white where they grasp at the blanket, heart spasming in his chest. What the fuck was that? It sounded like - the metal clanging of a trash can. Fucking rats, or raccoons, or something - he doesn't want to worry about it now. He'll clean it up in the morning.

Another clang. Peppino flinches despite himself. Let that be the end of it, let him go back to sleep.

Rustling, the clinking of glass. It isn't stopping. He'll have to go out there tonight, to chase them off, and drag the stinking trash to the dumpster where they can't reach it, and miss another night's sleep -

A long and low croak stalls his thoughts.

What is that.

There is a long silence, and just as Peppino decides he was hearing things, it sounds again, just to remind him it was real, and not imagined. A sound like a frog's warble, but too guttural, too much like a man, its alien sound curling around him and freezing him where he lay.

Peppino wants to get up, but finds himself still as a board. He can't move. The still dark around him has become suffocating.

The shuffling picks up, as do the animal noises - soft grunting, short croaks. It's digging through the trash. He knows what it is, and he doesn't want to confront it, but he has to. He's done it before, in the Tower, he can chase it off. This is his restaurant. He won't allow this to go on any longer.

Peppino wills his body to move in one great lunge, sitting up and swinging his legs out of the bed. He stands, teetering a little, before turning to kneel and peer under the mattress. A long, dark shape materializes as his eyes adjust. He can't see it well, but if he reaches - there. Rough canvas, and the cold, solid form beneath. His heart jumps, and he lets go.

He had meant to drag his shotgun out from under the bed, but - his hands hover above it. He doesn't want to touch it. The thought of dragging that metal weight out from under the bed and pulling it into his arms is - it's making him ill.

He doesn't want to feel it again. He pulls his hands back toward himself.

Another croak from outside, this one louder, closer. Peppino jumps up, knees protesting. He nearly trips over himself hurrying to the door of his bedroom, not bothering to get properly dressed but shrugging on a coat and his slippers, trying to move quickly before his fear can catch up and freeze him again.

As he makes his way toward the kitchen to grab a broom instead, the sounds quiet. Can it hear him? Don't think about it. Grab the broom. Head to the back door. Open it.

Open it.

Peppino steps outside, broom in hand.

The overhead light flickers, its canopy filled with dead bugs. It does little to illuminate much but the concrete step where Peppino stands, its light petering out as it creeps toward the other end of the alley. There, he sees his trash cans knocked over, fat black bags spilling garbage over the ground.

There's movement.

A bag shifts, and rolls, and it's not a bag, as it backs itself out of the trash pile and raises its head.

Peppino sees himself, twisted just enough to be wrong, chewing on trash like an animal. It tilts its head toward him, eyes flashing in the half-light, startled by his intrusion. It pipes up with guttural ribbit.

Peppino's legs are rooted where they stand. He should be able to charge over there, he should beat it senseless, but the brightness of its gaze, glaring out from the dim alley, keeps him from approaching. There's something different about it being here, rather than the Tower. His eyes can't stop roaming over its form, his but not, too fluid, too flexible, filthy and shuffling around in the trash. His adrenaline has left him, leaving him with a sick and quiet terror.

It narrows its eyes at him, black mouth gaping, and hisses. He squeezes his hands around the broom's handle.

Hurried footsteps from behind. Heavy, wet. Before he can turn, Peppino is nearly bowled over, latching onto the doorframe to keep himself from being thrown onto the concrete. A massive white and black blur passes him by. Just as he regains his footing, the alley is filled with a horrible screeching.

Peppino slaps his hands over his ears, and when he looks up -

He sees himself in stereo, two grotesque visions grappling with each other, limbs long and wild, wide mouths biting at doughy flesh, hissing, gurgling, writhing in filth.

One is bigger than the other. The one that came from inside the restaurant? It's overpowering the one that was digging through the trash, holding it down with twisted limbs that hide a terrible strength. Strange muscles wriggle and tense under doughy skin. It opens its black mouth, lips pulled back to reveal two rows of teeth, tongue lolling as it screams, eyes wild. The smaller one spasms and writhes, contorting its body, but is unable to break free - and just like that, the larger one has sunk its blunt teeth into its side, and it tears, provoking a wild and frenzied shrieking that makes Peppino sick. A viscous, red-brown fluid glops onto the concrete as the monster rips a chunk out of its smaller mirror. Its terrified squeals are shrill and piercing (can't anyone else hear this?), its struggles frantic but useless against the other's iron grasp. The larger clone closes its jaws around the hunk of flesh, swallows - and goes in for another.

Peppino feels faint.

Then, there's nothing.

Peppino wakes for the second time that morning. He's cold. His body hurts. Awareness comes as quickly as his body registers cool tile under his cheek, and he blinks, pushing himself away from the floor. Why is he here? What happened?

The clone -

Peppino's sitting up in an instant, the movement making his head swim. He's sitting just inside of the back door, sprawled out on tile, and - a thin blanket rolls off of him as he moves. Where did that come from? Is Gustavo here? Couldn't he have just dragged Peppino back to his bed - or woken him up?

Peppino struggles to his feet, leaning against the wall as his joints protest. He's sore all over from sleeping on the floor. And he's still not dressed, his coat stiff and uncomfortable over his tank top and underwear.

Now more cognizant, Peppino hesitates. He needs to go to the kitchen, find out what time it is, but - the alley.

He needs to see.

Balling one hand into a fist, he takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

The sun's beginning to rise, casting dim blue light into the alley. Shit. How long has he been asleep? He needs to get this cleaned up so he can start preparing the kitchen - but as he looks out onto the alley, he sees that the trashcans have been picked up, bags returned to their places. The garbage that spilled on the ground is largely gone, the alley no filthier than it usually is. It's almost as if nothing happened at all, but -

there's a body-sized, red-brown stain under the trashcans, one that he knows was not there before.

Peppino stumbles backward, letting the door close. Sick. He feels sick. Feet falling in front of one another, he walks stiltedly to the kitchen, leaning on the wall and then the counter as he goes. He reaches the sink just as the nausea begins to climb into his throat and he grips the sides to lean over and retch. His stomach heaves, but nothing comes out. He stands there a moment to breathe, leaning his weight on the cool metal. What time is it? He rubs the tears from his eyes, glancing at the clock - fuck. He should be dressed and prepared for the day already. Gustavo's going to be here soon - but isn't he already? Where did the blanket come from, if not him? Peppino shivers a bit in the chill of the kitchen.

The door's chime rings, and Peppino jolts, swiveling his head to the entrance - but it's only Gustavo, wrapped up in his coat again, that massive gray wall of a rat trailing behind him and ducking through the door.

"Peppino!"

Gustavo spots him through the open window behind the front counter, and Peppino loses track of him for a moment as he makes his way behind the counter and into the kitchen.

"Why… are you in your underwear?"

Peppino blinks at him. He shifts his feet, suddenly feeling exposed. He doesn't even have it in him to chide Gustavo for letting the rat in the kitchen.

"What time did you get here?" He asks, ignoring Gustavo's question. Gus frowns.

"...I just walked in." Then where did the blanket come from? "Peppino, are you feeling alright?"

No, he's not.

"No, I - " he feels like he's going to heave again, and sways where he stands. "Here. It was here last night. I saw it - "

"Saw what?" Gustavo tilts his head. "The other - your…?" He trails off, as if not sure how to refer to it.

"The clone monster. The - the fake Peppino." Peppino's side finds the counter, leaning against it for support. "There were - there were two of them. In the alley. They - one of them, it…" Peppino's eyes glance around, looking everywhere but at Gustavo. The air is cold, but his body is too hot. He's sweating. He needs a shower.

Gustavo regards him carefully. "...Peppino, maybe you should go back to bed."

Peppino starts, already shaking his head. "What? No, no, no, I need to open up, I - "

"I can handle it myself, I've done it before. We've got time. Brick, take him to his room, yeah?"

Peppino continues to protest as the rat maneuvers around Gustavo to nudge him toward the hallway.

"Damnit, don't touch me - I can - I'll get dressed, and - "

"Peppino, don't argue. I've got it. Go rest." Gustavo's tone is firm.

With that, Peppino finally deflates, allowing the rat to box him out of the kitchen and scoot him towards his bedroom. The siren song of his own bed is just too sweet, regardless of how little rest he'll actually end up getting after - all of that. He steps out of his slippers, coat falling to the floor, and crawls back into bed. The rat lingers, but Peppino doesn't have the presence of mind to bother shooing him out. As soon as his head rests on the threadbare pillow, he's out like a light.

Back in the kitchen, Gustavo removes his coat and threads his fingers through his hair, sighing. He should get started. Before that, though…

His curiosity gets the better of him. He makes his way to the back door to peek out, but there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary outside. Maybe Peppino had been dreaming. Sleepwalking. It hadn't happened before, but Gustavo's aware of the night terrors Peppino does get - this could just be something similar.

Frowning, he closes the door. There's no reason for him not to believe what Peppino had said happened, and that worries him. One fake Peppino he can deal with, but two? Just how many of these things had crawled out of the Tower? With nowhere else to go, were they all going to start congregating around the restaurant? Even at his most amicable, Gustavo's not sure he could handle that.

It's something to worry about later. He turns back to the kitchen (picking up a blanket on the floor as he does) and sets his mind on preparing for the day. He removes his apron from where it hangs on a hook, donning it, and heads to the pantry to retrieve his step-stool, only to hear rummaging in the kitchen.

Gus emerges from the pantry, step-stool in tow. "Peppino, I told you, I've got it handled - "

Ah.

Digging through the cabinets is Peppino's tall double. Gus hadn't heard it enter. It turns its head to glance sidelong at him, its lanky arms stopped in the middle of grabbing a bowl. There's a moment where neither of them move.

"... Actually, I'm glad you're here. I could use a little help."

The vacant smile on the fake Peppino's face widens, reaching its eyes. It nods, clumsy and slow.

Gus heads to the walk-in to pull out a rack of dough trays, prepared two nights prior, to let them warm for the lunch rush. The fake hovers over him all the while, finger held to its mouth. As Gus turns from the rack, the fake reaches out for a tray, and starts when Gus puts his hand on the approximate location of its elbow. One eye rolls to meet him.

"Not yet, amico. You know that, yes?" It blinks, then smiles widely and nods again. It's quiet, not unlike Peppino while he's working. As Gus tidies up, it trails after him like a puppy, unless tasked with something else. It responds well when Gustavo refers to it as "Peppino", so he sees no reason to stop. Time passes, and eventually the door's unlocked and the sign flipped to open.

As it turns out, the fake isn't too bad at making pizza. In fact, he's pretty damn good. If Gus didn't know better, he'd say it was a normal day in the pizzeria, with Pino tossing dough and himself watching the oven. Sometimes the fake's gooey body begins to meld with the dough a bit, but, well… what their customers don't know won't hurt them. Like Peppino, there's a flair to the way he preps the dough, keeping it in the air with some finesse that Gus has always enjoyed watching. Despite its wobbling, its hands are steady when it ladles sauce and places toppings. There's nothing to fear.

Gus does have his own scare, however, as he's chopping vegetables during a lull. An eerie melody floats from the other side of the kitchen and creeps into him like ice. Gathering his nerve, he turns, to see nothing but the fake Peppino stretching dough. It whistles as it works, the sound tuneless and hollow. Its face is bright, though, and its pose relaxed. Despite his initial alarm, Gus allows his shoulders to fall, and turns back to the peppers on his cutting board.

Peppino wakes from a dreamless sleep. He's… surprisingly warm, almost too warm, which is strange, because he's been turning the heat as low as he can stand at night to save money. As his senses come to him, he feels breathing. Not his own, a warm ribcage pushing up against his body. Gustavo?

He feels fur.

Peppino curses and struggles to sit up, shoving at the giant rat that's taking up valuable space on the bed and overheating him. Brick barely budges, Peppino's hands sinking into his soft fur.

"Off! Off! No rats on the bed - !" He chides, trying to shove his hands under the rat's belly to flip him. Brick stirs, raising his head to sniff at Peppino. He bats at the rat's snout as its whiskers tickle him.

A good bop to the nose seems to do the trick, and Brick shies away, sliding off the bed with a heavy thump. Brick chitters at him, seemingly annoyed, but Peppino pays it no mind. He's too preoccupied with how bright it is in his room.

What time is it? Did he oversleep? He has to open - 

And then he remembers, and sick recognition flows into him. What he saw in the alley. Gustavo sending him to bed. Peppino grits his teeth. How could he be so fucking weak? Hiding in his room like a scared boy? He swings his legs out of bed and begins to get dressed, pulling on the slacks he finds crumpled on the floor. He never should have let Gustavo bully him out of manning his own restaurant. He must have been delirious; it never would have happened if he were in his right mind.

Pulling on a fresh shirt and a tank top to cover it, he storms out of his room, making a beeline for the kitchen. As he approaches, he can hear a fuzzy tune - Gus has turned on the radio. Laid over it is Gus's baritone, singing along with a flourish, and - something else. A weedy warble that has become all too familiar.

Peppino rips the door open so violently the hinges rattle. What he sees makes the hairs on his arms stand up.

Gustavo, on his step-stool, stretching dough on the counter. And on the other side of the kitchen - his doppelganger, tossing a thin circle of dough into the air, mouth hanging open in some mockery of a smile.

Gustavo looks over as he hears the bang of the door, stopping his singing.

"Peppino!"

He reaches to turn the radio down. Peppino does not miss how his double turns to look at Gus, as if it's the one being called, before setting its gaze to him.

"We didn't wake you, did we? Are you feeling better? Got some rest?"

Peppino's starting to get a little sick of Gustavo ignoring the problem.

"What is it doing in here."

"Brick? I wanted him to keep an eye on you - "

"You know that's not what I mean!" Peppino throws his arms out, and points across the room. "Why is that fucking monster in my kitchen again? Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

The double tilts its head, but its smile doesn't drop. Gus frowns.

"Peppino, he doesn't mean any harm. He just wants to cook - "

"Bullshit!"

"Hey - !"

Gus jumps off the stool as Peppino marches across the room, fists clenched. The double stares at him blankly, pizza dough hanging from its hands. Gus doesn't have time to reach them before Peppino reels his fist back to punch - only to be caught by one of its gooey hands, dough slapping onto the floor. Peppino isn't fast enough to react as the creature's tongue jumps out, slapping him across the cheek.

Peppino sees red. He tears his hand free, and grabs fistfuls of the creature's doughy shirt, dragging it down to his level. It flails, mouth gaping, fat tongue lolling out of its mouth and over his head. Peppino's fear has been swallowed by rage. He headbutts it, and although his head sinks far too deeply into its soft cranium, the impact stuns it long enough for Peppino to follow with a swift right hook that sends the creature sprawling. As he readies himself to lunge once more, it gains its bearings, warbling high and shrill, eyes sunk deep into their sockets and toothy maw twisted in a sick grin. He'll throw it into the fucking oven. He'll burn it alive.

A blistering pain erupts in his left temple, and Peppino finds himself being flung sideways towards the counter. His landing forces the breath out of his lungs, and he scrabbles against the counter to stay standing. He looks to his left, expecting to see another clone, but -

It's Gustavo. Gustavo hit him.

"Knock it off!" Gustavo's voice is a bellow.

Peppino opens his mouth to protest, just as the creature across from them pipes up, babbling. Gus is quick to swivel his glare in its direction. "That means both of you!"

Peppino scowls, righting himself. "Are you on that thing's side, huh? What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

"You're the one picking a fight here, Peppino!"

"That thing is a monster! I want it out of my restaurant!"

The monster begins to speak unintelligibly again, drawing Peppino's attention. "Shut up!"

"If he's going, so am I!" Gustavo stomps his foot. Peppino turns back to him, mouth agape.

"What the hell is the matter with you!? Gustavo!"

"I mean it! I'll walk out that door, right now!" Gus points to the storefront, where thankfully there are no customers. The sun is beginning to set.

Behind Gustavo, Peppino can see Brick peeking into the kitchen from the hall, drawn by the commotion.

The fake wavers where it stands.

Peppino feels something inside himself boil over.

"Fine! Go! Fucking go!" He steps forward, shooing Gustavo with a sweep of his arm. "And take that thing the fuck with you! All of you, get out of my restaurant!"

Gustavo's already moving, yelling over his shoulder for Brick. He approaches the fake, and pauses, before carefully encircling a few of its fingers with his own. "Peppino, come on, let's go." he says, soft, but firm.

"Stop fucking calling it that!" Peppino shouts, before being shoved to the side as Brick moves past him, joining Gustavo. "Son of a bitch - fucking rat - "

As he regains his footing, Peppino looks up to see Gustavo fixing him with a glare that makes him sick to his stomach. Peppino's face feels hot.

"Go on! Go!" His voice is trembling with rage.

"We're fucking going!" Gustavo bites back, storming out of the kitchen, the fake in tow, its arm stretching for a moment before it begins to follow. The rat is next, turning once to look back at Peppino, who has no idea what to make of its non-expression, before following Gus. The door is opened with a force that leaves it rattling, chimes jangling wildly, and the three of them file out. It shuts with a bang, and Peppino is alone.

There's only the crackling of fire in the oven, and Peppino's haggard breathing. In the wake of their dispute, the silence is a chasm.

His face is hot. His eyes sting.

Peppino heads to the pantry to pull out a bottle of wine.

Chapter 3

It's a quick walk to the bus stop. The sun sinks completely below the horizon not long after they've left. Gustavo's temper keeps his feet moving, and though he'd prefer to ride on Brick, the fake Peppino's gooey fingers are tangled in his own and show no signs of releasing. Gus doesn't think that Brick would let the thing ride him, even if he asked nicely. He never did like getting dough in his fur.

It lopes alongside them, completely silent but for the gentle slapping of its feet along the pavement. Peppino's got a lot of fucking nerve to tell them to leave. Gus'd like to see how he manages on his own. He wonders if Pep will even finish the orders he and the fake Peppino had been working on.

…Well. What's done is done. Despite his stewing, the cool air and the silence are beginning to unwind the knot in his brow. He misses it at first, but the here-and-there pitter of cold droplets against his skin soon becomes hard to ignore. It becomes a relief when the bus stop and its metal canopy come into view. Underneath its roof, there are a few dark spots on the concrete where there used to be a bench bolted to the ground. Brick lays himself there, and Gus leans his back against him.

The fake stands just outside the bus stop's cover, wavering, its arm stretched all the way to Gustavo's side. Its fingers wiggle against his palm and out of his grasp, long arm drifting back to its chest, where it threads its hands together.

Gus takes a moment to study its face.

Its smile, while not gone, is as dim as Gustavo's seen it. Its eyes are drawn into deep sockets, half-closed, staring at the ground, and its hands. For a creature that's constantly wiggling and moving, it may as well be deathly still.

"Amico, come under the roof." Gustavo beckons him. "Lean against Brick with me."

Brick chitters in protest, but Gus just clucks his tongue at him. If Brick gets sticky, Gus'll wash it out later. This is a time to be gentle.

The fake Peppino glances up at him and, after a beat, steps just under the canopy's edge, although he comes no closer. Gus checks his watch.

He left at an odd time. They'll be waiting for a little while. Well, it's not too terribly cold, and he's got a warm rat against his back, so it shouldn't be too unbearable.

As he waits, his mind drifts surely back to Peppino. Gustavo isn't going to be the one to make up with him this time. He's going to force an apology out of that man, no matter how much it'll be like pulling teeth. He imagines that Peppino and his fake had likely fought back in the Tower, but that's over with now. As much animosity is shared between him and the other adversaries he'd faced, he'd never seen Peppino attack them on sight like he had his double. What could be so different?

Gus looks up at fake Peppino, who stands more than double his height. He's more than a head taller than Peppino, but not much bigger in the body, held up on stilt-like legs. Its attention is on the rain outside, rubbing its arms up and down, the doughy flesh squishing under its fingers. Gustavo would offer his coat, but he realizes with a sourness that, in his haste, he'd left it at the restaurant. Gus had basically made the decision to leave for Peppino's double. It may have been presumptuous of him, but… he couldn't have left them like that. If this thing is as much like Peppino as Gus thinks it is, they never would have stopped on their own. In the chill of the rain, it hunches its shoulders, tucking its chin against its chest.

"...Peppino?"

An eyeball rolls in his direction, before the fake turns its head like an owl, its body remaining still.

Gus won't deny that the thing is creepy. He's not that ignorant. But, still…

"...I'm sorry for dragging you out of there like that. It's just…" Gus shrugs and sighs. "There's no talking sense into him when he's that upset. He's stubborn as a mule… I suppose you would know that already, eh?"

He tries to smile up at the fake, but it only turns the rest of its body towards him, expression unchanging. Gus' smile loses its spirit, and he clears his throat.

"...Anyway. You can stay with me tonight, if you like." Gus had hoped it would go without saying, but he doesn't want to force it. Brick squeaks indignantly behind him.

The fake tilts its head, raising a finger to pull at its lip. Its eyes swivel here and there, occasionally resting on Gus, who waits patiently for an answer.

Just as Gus opens his mouth to speak again, the fake's head jolts up, looking down the street. Gus hears the groan of the bus in the distance, and soon enough, its brakes are squealing as it eases to a halt in front of them.

Gus steps forward, retrieving his bus pass from the bundle of cards in his back pocket. He makes his way up the steps, and looks back to see the fake hesitantly trailing behind him. It hovers at the door, before carefully lifting its foot up to the stair and, gripping the rail, pulling itself inside. There's a further loosening of the knot in his chest.

There's few other people on the bus, but he makes his way to the back anyway - it's the only seat big enough to comfortably hold Brick. Not many people come out this far. Peppino's restaurant is on the very edge of town, bordered by an undeveloped prairie. It's a better spot for a mechanic's shop or a gas station than a pizza place, but he supposes that's why it was cheap.

Gus sits in his usual spot, and Brick brushes past the fake to sit next to him, occupying two seats. The door is closed with a hiss and the bus rumbles back to life. Gus, looking up from his watch, sees the fake Peppino is lingering near the front of the bus, having grabbed the handrail for stability. Its head is on a swivel, darting between the empty seats and the strangers between them. Gus doesn't miss the uneasy glance of the driver at her new passenger.

"Sit here, Peppino," Gus calls out, patting the seat next to him. The fake is immediately brought to attention, and lopes over, wobbling as the wheels grind into motion. "Behave yourself, okay?"

There's an affirmative burble, and the fake sinks into the empty seat, drawing up its spindly legs. Its gooey body conforms to the space, filling it and then spilling out until its side brushes against Gus.

It really is like Peppino.

The ride back is quiet.

After Brick pulls the chain for their stop, the three of them file out, and make their way to Gus's apartment building. There's a moment of panic where he wonders if he left his keys in his coat, but no, there they are, in his back pocket. The fake trails behind them, but hovers at every threshold - at the door into the complex, getting into the elevator, getting out of the elevator, and as Gus approaches his apartment, it slinks very slowly down the corridor, turning its head this way and that. He wonders just how unfamiliar this place must be to a creature like that. Had it only ever lived in the Tower? It had seemed at home at the restaurant, but now…

Gus frowns, turning to the door to unlock it. He holds it open for Brick as the rat patters in, and beckons the clone behind him. He locks the door behind the clone after it creeps in, hands drawn close to its chest. It has become very cautious in its movement, which just doesn't seem to fit its lanky limbs and cartoonish face. As it peers around, Gus realizes that he's never actually brought Peppino over to his apartment before. It was always just… out of the way. Peppino's double got to visit before he ever did. It's a strange thought.

Brick flops down near the couch. Gustavo supposes he should make them something to eat, but in truth, he's not that hungry. All he really wants to do is have a drink and go to bed early.

Heading to his kitchenette, he glances toward the entrance, where the fake continues to hover, eyes everywhere but on Gustavo himself.

He wonders if this is how Peppino would act if Gus brought him over.

"You can sit down," Gus gestures toward the couch. "Do you want a drink?"

It doesn't answer him, but wanders closer, sitting carefully with a quiet hum. Brick opens an eye to watch it approach. Its knees are nearly up to its chin on Gustavo's short little couch, long arms laced around its ankles.

Gustavo takes a moment to dig through the fridge. He's got to have something low effort to eat. There's a bowl of leftover pasta - pasta that he'd taken home after Peppino made too much for himself. Gus frowns and grabs a beer, closing the fridge.

He makes his way back to sit on the couch, where the fake is still twiddling its thumbs. He holds his beer out to Brick to open with his incisors, and takes a drink.

"You sure I can't get you anything?"

This time, the fake burbles, its strange voice rolling around in its throat. Its gaze is far away, but after a moment, one of its eyes peers toward Gustavo.

"...I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch that."

It sighs (or at least, that's what Gus thinks it's doing) and starts again. Its warbling is slower, jaw undulating around its garbled words, like a hand puppet imitation of speech. Gus still has no idea what it's meaning to communicate.

"Ah…"

Gus's own loss for words is communication enough. The creature's spindly hands dig into its arms, twisting into the doughy flesh, wringing itself like a towel.

"Hey, now, let's stop that…" Gus isn't sure if what it's doing is painful to itself, but it doesn't look pleasant. He reaches out, intending to pull the creature's fingers out from where they've latched, but when his hand gets too close, one droopy eye rolls in his direction again and he swears he hears the fake Peppino growl.

Brick's head shoots up, and Gus pulls his hand back in an instant. It was so quiet, so short, but he's sure he heard it. The fake's gaze drifts away again, and it continues its unintelligible mumbling, as if nothing had happened at all.

Gus has heard the creature make a lot of strange sounds, but something like that is the first of its kind. He needs to be more careful. He can't forget what he's dealing with.

What is he dealing with?

His encounters with Peppino's clones in the Tower were few and far between. He'd only seen them towards the very end, and even then, their attention was on Peppino, not himself. They seemed like mindless, frail things, a failed attempt to fight Peppino's fire with fire, and nothing more.

The creature in front of him is hardly frail, and certainly not mindless. Gus hadn't encountered any creatures like this one in the Tower. He remembers, during the collapse - one of the clones followed them out. Was it the same one? He isn't sure.

Peppino didn't like to talk about what happened in the Tower. Gus never really pried - maybe it's Gus's fault for assuming their experiences were largely the same. Maybe there are things Gustavo doesn't know about what happened in that place. He takes a drink.

"Guhhusstahhh - ahh - voh."

A long, low hiss interrupts his thoughts. He turns to see the fake has one eye rolled in his direction again.

"Uh - y-yeah?"

"Hhhmn. Guss. Gusstahh… vvoh." It repeats, mouth chewing around his name like an oversized bite of food, slowly turning its head to face him, eye remaining in place. Its arms untangle from one another, and it reaches out, hand hovering at Gustavo's shoulder. When Gus makes no movement to stop it, its clammy grip closes over Gustavo's shoulder and most of his back, thumb settling on his chest.

Gustavo feels his heart stutter.

"...What is it, Peppino?"

Being called by Peppino's name seems to jolt something inside of it, and it leans closer, its other hand settling on the armrest past Gustavo, boxing him in.

"Guhhstavoh. Uhhv, vuh - vwa," it groans, straining over each sound, "Ammmicc-hoh… ohhdnu... nuaq… Ohm… mio... ammicooo?"

Gus tentatively places a hand over the creature's wrist.

"...yes, we're friends, Peppino. You and me." Despite the fake's worrying behavior, he gives his best smile.

This doesn't seem to be the answer it wants. The fake leans back, removing its grasp from Gus and twining its arms together once again, its discordant hums reverberating quietly in its throat.

It takes effort to tear his eyes away from the creature's brooding, but Gustavo returns to his drink. He lets his gaze flit to Brick, who sits at attention, hackles raised. He tries to catch Brick's eye, to encourage him to relax - but the rat only stares back at him, claws worrying the carpet.

"Dddeddino," The fake says, earning Gustavo's attention once again. Its smile is contorted into a strange grimace.

"Hepp… Onipp.. Peppinnooo," It forces out at last, staring resolutely at him.

"Youuu're… Peppino's… frriennd."

Gustavo finds himself speechless.

The fake raises its hands to grip at its neck, its fingers digging deeply into the flesh. Somehow, for the first time, Gustavo notices that it has no fingernails.

He's shaken out of his stupor when the fake begins to pull hard at its own skin, stretching it like dough. As it pulls, its fingers crawl back to grab more - like it's trying to pull its own head off.

"Stop!" Gustavo jumps forward, grabbing at the fake's hands, damn the consequences. "Don't hurt yourself."

It all feels so terrifyingly familiar.

The fake growls again, but this time, Gustavo keeps his grip. His hands sink into the creature's flesh, and he can't help the shudder that creeps over him. The fake's strength is iron, but after a moment, it lets its grip be tugged away by Gus.

"I won't let you," he says, relaxing his grip but not letting go.

The fake's shoulders sink. It warbles softly, long and low. Its eyes have sunk so deeply into their sockets, it's hard to see them. Its face looks like a droopy mask.

What can he do, to comfort a creature like this? When he hardly knows the reason for its actions in the first place? Peppino, while moody and difficult, at least has words, as seldom as they come to him. This one still can't quite bridge that gap, and it's leaving Gustavo to flounder for understanding.

The phone rings, startling all three of them.

Gustavo nearly falls out of his seat, and the fake lets out a panicked cry that only ends when it forcibly clacks its jaws back together. Their gazes drift to each other, then the phone on the wall.

Brick has already begun to advance to the phone when Gustavo jumps up, brushing past him. Before he can reach it, though - the sound stops, mid-ring.

Strange.

In the ensuing silence, Gustavo finds his body aching and sleep pricking at his eyes. Enough of this. He needs to go to bed.

He turns to the fake, who's returned to winding its arms together like pretzels.

"Pe - uh - hey," Maybe he should stop with the 'Peppino's for now. "It's still early, but… I think we should turn in. It's been a long day." 

Brick nervously glances between him and the fake.

"Do you want some pajamas to borrow for the night? They may be a little short in the legs, but…" Gustavo trails off. It's clear the fake isn't listening, too focused on the floor in front of it.

"...I'm gonna go wash up. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" With that, Gustavo retreats to the bathroom. Hopefully Brick can manage being on his own with the fake for a little bit.

His apartment is quiet for a while.

Gustavo is halfway through brushing his teeth when a shrill squealing tears him from his own worried thoughts. He spits, not even bothering to wipe the foam from his mouth as he jumps from his stool and rips the door open to see - 

Oh, god.

The fake Peppino - its head is -

Gustavo gags, and turns his gaze away. In a moment, Brick is at his side, bristling like a porcupine, chittering into his ear. Gus breathes - and looks again.

The fake's head is gone, but its naked brain remains, connected to its neck by a thin fleshy stalk. Lidless eyes peer out from glistening pink flesh. It doesn't move - standing tall in the center of his apartment, like it's waiting for something. Its hands are dug into a strange, lumpy shape - oh. That's its face. Pulled off like a rubber mask, eyes and mouth turned to vacuous black holes.

Brick is sidling up against him, trying to get Gus to climb onto his back - Gus braces a hand against his side, but doesn't hop up. The fake turns its disembodied head in its hands.

Gus tries to speak - and finds his throat paralyzed, his lips still wet with foam. He wipes his mouth, and tries again.

"Getting - getting ready for bed?" He asks, petting at Brick, trying to calm his shivering.

The fake's eyes dart down to its hands - then back up to Gustavo.

After a moment, it nods, its brain bobbing above its body.

"Let me - let me get you a pillow," Gus says breathlessly, keeping a berth around the couch as he heads to his bedroom. Brick's chattering doesn't stop, and Gus can only wave a hand dismissively at him - not now - as he retrieves a pillow from his bed.

When he returns, the fake has sat back down, shoulders hunched. As he rounds the couch again, he can see that it's staring down at its own rubber mask face, which stares back vacantly. He holds the pillow out - and has to shake it to get the fake's attention, who eventually looks up and reaches with long fingers to take it from him.

Gus wishes him good night, and turns on his heel to scurry into his bedroom, trying not to shut the door too hard after Brick.

He slumps against the rat, sinking to the floor.

Jesus. Alright.

…It'll be better in the morning.

He pets Brick for a while. The rat is giving him a look - which he avoids. He knows. Maybe he did bite off more than he could chew. 

The other Peppino still would've needed somewhere to spend the night.

Eventually, he staggers back to his feet to take his slacks off and crawl into bed. He doesn't miss Brick locking the door, before the rat follows to curl around him. Gus focuses on warm fur to push the uneasy thoughts from his mind, and waits for sleep to come.

The night is long and dark.

The Peppino that lies on Gustavo's couch doesn't breathe. He doesn't need to. He stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling and listens to unfamiliar sounds - distant cars along asphalt and gentle snoring from the room over. His own face is crumpled between his hands.

He does not sleep.

Chapter 4

Morning comes.

Gus is usually nudged out of bed by Brick at this hour, the rat impatient for his breakfast. But when he wakes, he finds Brick silent and still next to him. So Gustavo's not the only one hesitant to open the door and see what's waiting for them on the other side.

Still, the day has to go on.

Gus unlocks the door and heads to the kitchen without fanfare, Brick padding hesitantly after him. He expects to see the fake's exposed flesh again - but the couch is empty, and as he makes his way to the kitchenette, it's nowhere to be seen. Where could it have gone? No - where could it be hiding? Gus isn't sure he'd hear the end of it if it managed to cram itself into his apartment's ducts. He's already on thin ice for insisting Brick is a roommate rather than a pet.

The creaking of the bathroom door stalls his worry, and Peppino's double peeks out, wearing its face once again. Gustavo breathes a sigh of relief.

"Morning," Gus says. 

The fake only glances at him as it makes its way back to the couch, curling its legs up and wrapping its arms around them.

Brick is already at the counter, sitting up on his haunches and pulling coffee grounds out of the cabinet so that Gustavo doesn't have to reach. He appreciates it. As he grabs the pot to fill it, a thought comes to him, and he turns to the fake Peppino, who's watching them from the couch.

"Do you… want coffee?"

The fake nods, two slow, careful bobs of its head, placid smile unchanging. An extra mug joins Brick and Gustavo's own on the counter as they wait for the water to heat.

It's cold in the pizzeria.

Peppino's up, and has been up, since just before sunrise. He never sleeps well when he's been drinking - not that he sleeps well to begin with.

He'd emerged from his room and wandered to the kitchen to find an empty bottle of wine on the counter, along with sticky reddish stains where he'd spilled it. The counter itself is a mess - still covered in flour and bits of toppings. It was all he could do last night to push the rack back into the walk-in and wrap up the unused dough. That's what he must have done, anyway, since the rack and the dough are no longer sitting out. It's not as if anyone else could have put them away.

The phone on the counter has been taunting him for the better part of an hour. The light on the receiver is blinking - angry messages, he's sure, from individuals that ordered a pizza last night and did not receive it. He'd torn the order sheets and tossed them without even bothering to look. It hurt too much to dwell on it. Just more bad publicity. He may as well shoot himself in the foot. It would be easier.

There was something else, too. About the phone.

Gustavo.

He may have tried calling him last night. He's not sure. If he did, they didn't speak. He would have remembered, because he's still - 

He's still angry.

Peppino stands, grabbing a towel to begin tidying last night's mess. How dare Gustavo. How dare Gustavo raise a hand to him, when Peppino's just trying to - to protect his restaurant. That's what he's been trying to do this whole time. Since before the Tower. After everything that's happened, you'd think Gustavo would fucking understand that. Instead, he's - he's -

Peppino stutters in the motion of wiping the counter. There's something building up inside of him. His throat is hot.

Gustavo is a fucking idiot. He thinks he can just ignore that thing, let it run rampant in the restaurant? It's a monster. It shouldn't exist. Its only purpose is to terrorize Peppino - just like the Tower. He can't push the sight of its face from his mind - his own, but warped, wrong. Eyes lolling in their sockets and mouth gaping. A parody of him. Just another fucking nightmare. Except that even with the Tower gone, this one won't go . It isn't fair. He saved his restaurant, but he's still going to lose it, whether it's debtors or a horrible doppelganger coming for his throat. All that thing is doing is waiting for a chance to strike again. To kill him and take his place? Probably. He won't let it. He'll destroy it for good before that happens.

But then, Gustavo.

He swipes the leavings on the counter into the trash. Gustavo's put himself between Peppino and that thing. Why he's doing it, Peppino can't understand. Does he think he can make friends with it like the fucking rat? Ride around on its back, play card games with it? Give him a break. Something that mindless and violent can't be reasoned with.

Peppino stops mid-swipe.

Gustavo went home with it last night.

He let Gustavo go home with that thing.

That's - 

He drops the rag. He needs to check on Gus. It could have hurt him - Gus is tough, but even Peppino struggled to fight that thing off - he didn't even win, he just escaped. Halfway through grabbing his jacket from off the hook, though, he realizes he doesn't even know Gustavo's address.

Why doesn't he know that? They're friends, aren't they?

He pushes the thought away. He knows his number. Peppino hurries to the phone, dialing by memory, twining his fingers in the cord.

Ring.

Ring.

Click.

"Hello?" Gustavo's voice sounds through the speaker.

Peppino slams the receiver back down. What the hell is he supposed to say?

Gustavo's not dead. That's good, at least. Peppino wipes his face miserably. He… he needs to finish cleaning the kitchen. And prepare dough, since he didn't do it last night. It'll be a long day.

Good. He doesn't want to think anymore.

Gustavo stares at the phone. Whoever called hung up as soon as he answered. Who would -

scratch that. He knows who. Or at least, he thinks he does.

At his side, Brick leans against the counter, sipping coffee. The inquisitive sniff he gives is waved off by Gus, who glances toward the fake Peppino instead. It's watching him too, from its spot on the couch, lapping at its drink with a long tongue.

"...I'm gonna head over to the restaurant," Gus says, bringing his mug to the sink to rinse it out. Brick's Italian is coming along, but it's still easier to talk to him in English. Beside him, Brick squeaks.

"I know what I said last night. I just," he sighs. "I'm worried about him. Maybe I shouldn't have left."

Brick chitters dismissively.

"Don't say that. He doesn't do well by himself, I can't punish him like that…"

Brick sniffs, sipping his drink. Gus knows he means well, but he doesn't need any advice on dealing with Peppino. He has enough experience by now.

Gus turns to look at the fake, who's still watching him.

"...I think you should stay here, amico," he says, "I don't want him getting into it with you."

The corners of the fake's mouth quiver, pushing its cheeks back, and though it doesn't entirely lose its permanent smile, Gus gets the feeling it isn't really smiling at all.

"I'll be fine. I can handle him," Gus smiles brightly, before heading to put on his boots and  spare coat. As he ties his laces, a shadow falls over him, and he looks up to see the fake has followed him to the door.

"No - I'm telling you, stay here." The fake cocks its head. Gustavo pats his pockets - he's got everything he needs. He nods to Brick, who nods back from across the room. The rat knows well enough to stay behind when Peppino's in a fury. Gus heads out the door, and - the fake trails stubbornly after him. Gustavo sighs.

Fine. He'll make it work.

A ride on the bus, and they're walking towards the restaurant again. The sun's barely up, and there's still a chill in the air. Gus stuffs his hands in his pockets.

If the fake Peppino is bothered by the cold, he doesn't show it, loping along at an easy pace. Maybe Gus is making a mistake, coming back so soon, but he can't stand the thought of Peppino in there alone. He's angry, yes, but…

But Peppino tried calling him. Gus knows it was him. He wants to talk. Gus will oblige.

When the restaurant creeps into view, Gus pauses - he has to grab the fake's doughy arm to stop it as well, before it walks off without him. It turns to look at him, one eye focused, the other rolling loose in its socket.

"I think you should stay out here," Gustavo says, "At least until I'm done talking to him."

The fake tugs its arm out of Gustavo's grip, looking at the pizzeria, and then back to him. It murmurs something Gus can't understand.

"Please," Gustavo says, "Let me try."

The fake wavers, hesitating, before lowering itself to sit on the ground with a sigh. It's as much agreement as he'll get.

Leaving the fake behind, Gus makes his way around to the back entrance. As he reaches the door, he thumbs through his keys - not that, no, not that one - before the back door shudders suddenly into motion, and he barely has time to step back before it swings open and - he's face to face with Peppino.

Peppino nearly jumps a foot in the air - crying out and dropping the bag of trash he was carrying on the ground.

"Gus!?"

"Peppino!"

"What - what the hell are you doing here!? Trying to scare me to death!?" Peppino picks the trashbag back up, still trembling with adrenaline, and shoves his way past Gus.

"No, I, Peppino , I came here to - "

"And I thought I told you to leave!" The dumpster is open and shut unceremoniously, and Peppino pivots right back to the restaurant. "Who said you were welcome back, eh!?"

"Peppino, you called me, didn't you?"

Peppino pauses in his tirade only briefly, before continuing inside. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't lie to me!" Gus follows after him. "Peppino, I came here to talk - "

"What is there to talk about!?" Peppino turns on him, sweeping his arm out. "You'd choose that poor imitation over me? Then go on and have him!"

"Peppino , it's not - I'm not choosing him over you!" Gus feels his irritation creeping back in, but tries to stay his temper. "I just don't want you to fight! That's all!"

"And why not!?" Peppino's lip is pulled back in a sneer. "It's a monster, just like all the other monsters from that Tower - it shouldn't exist!"

"The Tower is gone, Peppino!" Gus can't help but begin to raise his voice. "There's no reason to fight!"

"You're wrong! You don't know anything - "

"Peppino, he was with me all night long!" That seems to make Peppino bite his tongue. "And nothing happened. He's not dangerous."

Peppino shakes his head.

"No, no, you - you don't understand! You're not the one it's after!"

He paces in a circle, eyes wild, hands barely able to keep up with his words.

"It's a copy of me , Gustavo - what else is it meant to do but kill me? Take my place? It tried once already, and I barely got away! How long am I meant to keep doing this? Is it going to keep trying to become me until it succeeds?" His voice nearly breaks. "And you - you'd let it - "

"I wouldn't - "

"You already did!" Peppino turns on his heel, storming into the kitchen.

"Peppino!"

Gus trots after him, but Peppino waves him off, cursing under his breath.

"I have work to do, Gustavo! Get out of here!"

"I won't!" Peppino is glaring at him again, but Gus continues unaffected. "Peppino, I followed you into that Tower! You think I'm going to leave now?"

"Nobody asked you to!"

"I chose to!" Peppino is stopped for words again, looking back at him. Gus steps forward, risking Peppino's ire as he moves into his space. "Peppino, I chose to follow you into that Tower! And I chose to come back here. Because you're my friend."

Peppino's shaking his head, but Gus continues.

"I'm not going to leave again. I want you to trust me, Peppino. Please." Gus lowers his voice, gripping the counter to keep his hands from drifting forward. It would be stupid to touch Peppino now.

"I - "

Peppino looks away, and rubs a hand over his face. It's a long moment before he speaks again.

"Why?"

What can Gustavo say to that? That in that creature, he sees the same man that's standing in front of him now? That'll break the thin ice he's already standing on. But it's the truth.

"I… I know he's not you, Peppino. And I know the two of you fought," Gus takes another step, "But, just - think of things from his perspective. Just for a moment."

Peppino's shaking his head again, but Gus continues.

"I don't - "

"Where else can he go?"

"I don't care," Peppino says, and Gus can only think of how tired he looks, "I don't want it here. You can't ask me to - to have that thing here. It's not right."

"...Maybe not," Gus concedes. "But he's here, regardless. And I'm not going to throw him out, not when - " Gus bites his tongue too late.

"When what?"

Gus turns his eyes away.

"What, Gustavo?" Peppino's tone is firm.

"...When he's so much like you." The words are barely out of his mouth before Peppino is shaking his head and walking away.

"Peppino!"

"No. I'm done with this!"

"You can't just walk away-!"

They're interrupted by the front door jingling. It should be locked this early, shouldn't it? But as they round the corner to look out the kitchen window, the fake Peppino is peeking his head through the glass door, feet still planted outside.

"Guuustahv…?"

Peppino is out of the kitchen in a second, barging towards the door.

"Peppino! Wait!"

"Get out of here!" Peppino bellows, slamming his weight against the door, catching the fake in the process - its skull and long hands crushed between the door and the frame. Peppino curses, and reaches to shove it back before shutting the door successfully with a rattle.

"Go! Leave!" Peppino shouts, but the creature continues to hover just beyond the pane.

"Peppino!" Gus catches up to him, and watches as Peppino braces his shoulder against the door, searching in his pockets for the key.

"The door was locked. How - "

"This is what I'm saying, Peppino. He's not just going to go away."

Peppino heaves a sigh, looking into Gustavo's eyes at last.

"Then what do you want me to do, Gus? I won't - I can't have that thing here. I can't take that." Even now, Gus can see the tremble in his shoulders.

Peppino is right, Gustavo knows. He can't ask that of him - to have Peppino take a melting copy of himself, one made to terrorize and destroy him, into his own home. He's aware there's a perspective he's lacking - the fleeting thought of a fake Gustavo following his shadow gives him a shudder. But even then, maybe they can find some sort of peace.

"You don't have to let him stay, Pino. You don't even have to let him in. Just - " Gus watches Peppino's brow crease as he listens to his plea, "Don't start a fight when there isn't one. That's all I'm asking."

Peppino groans, pressing his back to the door, covering his face with his hands. Gustavo waits patiently for an answer.

"...Fine," Peppino sighs at last, and Gus feels himself breathe again, "But if he starts a fight, I'm finishing it."

Gustavo's already nodding. "That's alright. Right, amico?"

He turns to look up at the fake, but finds himself staring at an empty sidewalk. Somewhere between Peppino closing the door and Gustavo finally wearing him down, the fake had slunk off without either of them noticing.

Peppino re-locks the door, mumbling to himself, and Gustavo, after scanning the horizon and finding nothing, returns to the kitchen. He may as well get his apron on.

Chapter 5

The clone does not show itself for the rest of that day, despite Peppino keeping an eye out. The afternoon passes without incident, albeit with the kitchen quieter than usual. Gustavo leaves for the evening, and Peppino is left alone. Although his nerves creep up on him, turning his attention to every small sound, he does not hear thumping in the vents, nor commotion from the alley. Despite his mind's best attempts to keep him awake with worrisome thoughts, his exhaustion from the entire ordeal puts him to sleep.

When he awakes at last, the restaurant is still blissfully quiet.

Peppino should know better than to test his luck by considering it all to be over. He's sure that the creature is still nearby, waiting. Why it's slunk off, he can't know - maybe it's finally intimidated enough by him to keep its distance. That's what he hopes, at least. But he can't be too hopeful - he's learned that lesson by now. He has to keep his guard up, keep his eyes on the shadows, keep an ear open for suspicious noises.

As he does, though, things remain quiet. For several days, there are, for once, no strange goings on at Peppino Pizza.

Peppino's guard begins to slip. Maybe it is over.

On a late evening, nearly a week later, Peppino unlocks the back door to take out the trash. Gus has gone home, although the pizzeria isn't closed yet. There's a few hours left in the day. The sun isn't entirely down, but the alley is  dark. He flicks on the light to better see where he's going - and instantly regrets it.

There, curled up next to the dumpster, is his clone. It's twisted in a way he can't make sense of - head swiveled around to rest on its own back, limbs tangled together. He can't help it - he shrieks, dropping the trash bag and sending it tumbling noisily down the step. The commotion rouses the creature, its bloated head perking up and twisting back around to face him. He shudders.

It utters something, limbs untangling to crouch in the dumpster's shadow, staring up at him balefully. Peppino's heart clenches.

"You - what are you doing here!? Get out!" Peppino yells, putting more force into his voice that he feels capable of. The clone murmurs, eyeballs lolling, and it crawls forward. Towards Peppino.

Peppino backs up immediately, one hand gripping the doorframe. It's coming at him - he needs to attack it now. But Gus - goddamnit. This thing is going to prove Peppino right, right here, right now, it's going to attack him while Gus isn't around -

A clinking tears him from his spiral, and he sees that the creature has paused in its advance, instead reaching one long limb to grasp at the trash bag Peppino had dropped. It reels its long arm back towards itself, the bag dragging along the asphalt. Standing to its full height, it uses its other hand to lift the thick metal cover of the dumpster without effort, and tosses the bag in.

As the creature is distracted by its menial task, Peppino sees his opportunity, and darts backward, slamming the door shut and locking it once again.

As reality crashes down on him, he groans,  and leans against the door, stomach turning.

He was right. It never fucking left.

Peppino spends the rest of the night checking locks. On every window, on every door. When he flips the 'open' sign to 'closed', he spends a long moment paralyzed by the empty street, waiting for something to move - but nothing does. He locks the front, and jams a table in front of the door for good measure.

He barely sleeps.

The next morning, Gustavo isn't pleased to have his path inside blocked, and Peppino has no choice but to tell him what happened.

"So he didn't disappear, then," Gus says, hanging his coat, "That's good."

Peppino's throat jumps. "Good? How is that good, exactly!?"

Gustavo shrugs, tying his apron. "I was starting to worry something happened to him. After he left like that…"

Peppino groans, but doesn't say anything more. He doesn't want to hear any more about Gustavo's misplaced empathy.

The days go on.

Peppino continues to catch glimpses of the creature - in the alley, mostly, sometimes slinking around out front at night. Every time, Peppino raises his voice, doing his best to spook it into leaving - and every time, it only stares back at him, just as stubborn, it seems, as he is. He's doing his damndest to keep his promise to Gustavo. It takes every ounce of his will not to charge out there to dispose of that thing - but until it makes a real move at him, his hands are (metaphorically) tied.

He worries that when it does, it'll be too late for him. It'll creep up on him while he's sleeping and - no. He doesn't want to think about it.

He's taken to tossing the trashbags out into the alley from the door. They only fly halfway to the dumpster, sometimes breaking and spilling open - but the next morning, they're always gone. He's not going to walk out there when he knows that's where it's waiting for him. Figures the damn thing would eat out of his trash.

Gustavo ignores his warnings, and walks behind the restaurant without fear. Whatever. He'll learn his lesson eventually.

The thumping in the walls hasn't returned - Peppino can only pray that it stays gone. It's his only evidence that the thing hasn't made its way back inside yet. Or maybe it's just learned to be quiet - no. It's too big. Peppino would hear it if it started crawling around in the vents again. He continues his check of every lock before he closes.

At night, while Peppino's in bed, he is woken, occasionally, by scuffling in the alley. It never lasts long, and is not nearly as loud as the fight he had been privy to - it sounds more like the clone is chasing off raccoons and opossums than others of its kind.

Nonetheless, it's proof that the thing is still out there, and has no intention of leaving. It makes his nights long and sleepless, watching the window until exhaustion takes him.

On one of these nights, not long after Peppino has fallen into a light sleep, his eyelids flutter back open. He barely feels like he'd slept at all. What woke him this time? Something loud, his half-awake mind supplies, although it's quiet now. He listens -

and something sounds from inside his room. A shuffle. A whimper, short and quiet but there . His blood fills with ice.

It's in his room. Something - that thing - is in his room. He strains his ears, trying to tell where it is - it's quiet - but his mind knows. Somewhere in the liquid dark of his room is a massive body, taking up the space that belongs to him, waiting for him to move. His fingers twitch under the covers, breath as shallow as it can come. Does it know he's awake? He can't let it know. Forcefully, he tries to slow his breathing, even as his heart beats like a hammer in his chest. The air under the covers is too hot. It's making him sweat. But he can't move.

Another shuffle. Its soft feet sliding against his floor. And - a tiny sound. Another whimper, subdued, dragged back into the throat that made it. A breath - wet. Hurried.

Peppino waits - and waits. Tiny sounds make their way to him, but nothing approaches his bed. He does not hear steps. Whatever it's doing here, it isn't moving. Peppino knows - this nightmare will last for hours. It is one he cannot wake up from. He has to be the one to move. He has to.

He squeezes his hand into a fist, counting the seconds. He needs to be ready if - in the moment he moves, it lunges at him. He sucks in a breath.

Peppino bolts upright with a ferocious roar, one hand ripping toward the lamp to turn it on, nearly knocking it over in his haste. Contrary to his expectations, he is not tackled the moment he moves.

Yellow light fills the room, and he sees clearly, in the corner, a shuddering, lumpy shape. Its eyes glint wetly out of deep, wide sockets, and its limbs wrap around its body and face. It whines eerily as Peppino's gaze reaches it, pushing itself away from him.

What is it doing here? It doesn't matter. Peppino's been wholly provoked. It's invaded his space - terrified him - this is the last straw. He throws the blanket off, swinging his legs out of bed - and immediately yelps as his feet hit something hard and unexpected. Pulling his legs back, he tears his gaze away from the intruder to see - his shotgun. It's been pulled out from under the bed, and the zipper of the canvas case is partially undone. He doesn't remember moving it. He never so much as touches it. So that would mean -

A sickness flows into him. It got at his shotgun . Why it abandoned the arm, he doesn't know, but it entered his room and pulled the gun out without waking him - his mind fills with visions of what could have been.

Another reedy whine jolts him into action. Peppino reaches to grab the gun from where it lay, tearing the cover off in a fumbling moment and aiming it - and as he does, the clone bursts into movement, scrambling toward the window which, Peppino can now see, has been forced open. He aims the gun at the shambling form as it wedges itself through the gap, his finger finding the trigger, and - 

click.

There is no gunfire. The clone's wet body thumps onto the ground outside, and its footsteps fade as it scurries away.

Peppino shudders, and sucks in a breath as if surfacing from deep water. His shoulders drop, and with them, the nose of his gun. The safety was on. The safety was on and if it had run towards him - if it had attacked him - he shakes the thoughts from his head. Trembling, he cracks the chamber open, just to be sure, to see a round sitting neatly inside. Right where he left it.

His whole chest is rattling with the force of his shaking. He pulls the shell from the chamber, and slides the gun back into its case, and back under the bed. Closing the shell into a fist, he rummages through his bedside table until he finds the rumpled ammo box from which it came. He tucks the shell back inside, and stands. The safe. He'll put the ammo in the safe. He's fairly certain it's the only ammo he has to hide. He can't fit the gun in there, but without ammunition, it's just a big metal club. He can deal with that.

Peppino heads to the kitchen to lock away the shotgun shells, and make himself a pot of coffee. He won't be going back to bed.

The fake doesn't make another appearance for a little while after that, but that does little to ease Peppino's ragged nerves. The thing has proven it can slip past the locks Peppino has been checking religiously. He's certain he locked the bedroom window. Does its gooey body let it squeeze through any crack? He doesn't know. He feels like a dying man, encircled by a hungry shark and unable to do anything about it.

He doesn't tell Gustavo about the shotgun incident. It'll be another argument, and for once, Peppino doesn't want one. Gustavo is, somehow, even more stubborn than he is. Peppino just wants to work. During the day, he knows he won't see the creature, so he puts his head down, and kneads dough. If Gustavo notices his malaise and shoots a worried glance his way, Peppino doesn't acknowledge it.

Eventually, he starts seeing the clone lingering near the trash once again, but it shys away when it spots him, tucking itself into shadows. There are times when he doesn't see it at all, but knows, somehow - it's there. Waiting. Brooding. He doesn't catch it inside the restaurant again, which should be a comfort, but he knows better. He considers nailing boards over the windows. It's not like business could get any worse.

The days are warming. Early spring's chill is easing into summer's heat, and with it, the days are getting wetter. More storms, here and there, though none nearly as bad as when the clone made its appearance in the restaurant. Gustavo works later, though Peppino doesn't ask him to.

On one such night, he says goodnight to Gus as he leaves, and, rather than turn in, busies himself with tidying the kitchen. He's tired, at least physically, but can't bear the thought of sleeping. Grumbling and scrubbing at his eyes, he grabs the broom and begins to look around for the dustpan -

BOOM fizzzz

Peppino's body locks up. Before he has a chance to process the sound, there's another loud POP , and a crackle. The broom clatters to the floor as his hands fly to his ears, shoulders shuddering. Gunshots. No. Fireworks. Only fireworks. It's too early in the year, it's not even a holiday, who the fuck is -

BOOM popcrackle

God fucking damnit. He's so, so tired of losing sleep. The shells - fireworks - sound like they're right overhead. Probably idiots in the unincorporated hills that Peppino Pizza sits just outside of. He wants to run out there and tear them a new one (if he can find them) but -

There's another one. Goddamnit. They can't have that many. It'll be over soon. He'll just weather it out.

Without another thought, Peppino heads to the pantry. The walk-in would block the sound better, but it's too fucking cold in there. He tugs on the pull-chain to turn the bare lightbulb on, closes the door, and drags Gustavo's step-stool to the back of the little room so he can sit and wait. The lack of windows provides a modicum of security. He considers drinking, but he doesn't want to have to replace the bottle…

Peppino is prepared to sit and mope for the next hour in his makeshift little bunker, straining with annoyance but preventing a full blown panic. He doesn't like it, but counting bags of flour and sticks of salami with tired eyes keeps his mind from the deep end. He crosses his arms and grips his biceps, hands flexing in an improvised rhythm.

In a lull between blasts, Peppino hears something - something's in the kitchen. Footsteps. And - there it is. The discordant voice that's become all too familiar, wavering just beyond the door. He's trapped again. Maybe it'll move on and leave him alone -

The door to the pantry jutters. He hadn't locked it - the knob turns, and in through the crack of the door peers a misshapen head.

Peppino acts on his very first impulse, and hurls a hunk of cheese at the intruder.

The clone squawks, flinching as the makeshift projectile makes contact with its forehead.

"Get out - !"

Another boom and poppy crackle fill their ears, and as Peppino recoils from the sound, the monster slips in through a gap far too small for its massive body. It doesn't come any closer - shutting the door behind it and sitting on the floor, wrapping its arms around and around itself.

"You - ugh!" Peppino sneers, and throws a fat stick of pepperoni, backed against the shelf. It bounces off the fake's doughy body harmlessly.

"Get out! Get out of here!"

It responds to this - and shakes its head, burying its face in its arms.

Peppino is beside himself. There's nowhere he can go - the creature is blocking the exit. Every minute or two, he's assaulted by sounds he has no power to stop. And it won't leave . What does it -

"What do you want, you son of a bitch!"

The monster croons mournfully into its own flesh. It babbles meaninglessly, whining high and sharp, making Peppino feel ill, strange syllables wrapping around each other. And then -

"...scared…"

One word - Italian, not English, makes its way through the garbled speech.

Peppino grips at his seat. It could just be coincidence - something that sounds like speech, but isn't.

"What did you say?" he asks, switching his dialect.

No response but intermittent little moans. Peppino scowls. It had spoken to him before - in broken Italian that he could barely parse. Does it even understand what it's saying?

"You're scared?" he tries again.

The creature nods, bobbing its fat head, and Peppino feels his stomach flip. One eye creeps out of a deep socket to stare in his direction.

Outside, more discordant noise flies into the air. Peppino and his double both go rigid.

"They're just fireworks," Peppino says, scowling through the tension he feels in his shoulders. "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's just noise."

At this, the creature untucks its head from its arms, turning its attention fully towards him. Its mouth is fixed in an ugly, toothy sneer, its cheeks straining at the edges. It's hard to parse its expression as anything but malice, and its gaze makes Peppino uneasy.

"W-what?"

The creature unfurls a long arm, raising a hand to point its crooked finger towards him.

"You're… scared..?"

Peppino balks. "No! What do you take me for?" He crosses his arms again, gripping at himself. "I just don't like the noise. That's all."

The creature hums, drawing its arm back towards itself. It keeps looking at him , though, which Peppino doesn't appreciate. Its lips close slowly over its pearly teeth, the corners of its mouth straining a little less. It tenses when there's another crackle, but it's stopped moaning.

"What… what do you want from me?" Peppino asks, exhaustion lining his voice. If he's going to be trapped like this, he can at least make use of it.

The creature tilts its head, soggy sockets narrowing. Does it not understand the question?

"Do you not get it? Why are you here? Why won't you just leave me alone!?" Peppino begs, throwing his hands out.

Its head perks up a little, uncurling slightly from its ball. Peppino presses his back to the shelf, but the clone doesn't move further.

"Pe… peppiiino," it croaks, and Peppino feels his heart stutter. "Peppino… Pizzaa-ahh. Nothing… compares."

It sits up a little, and looks down at itself, placing a hand against its doughy chest.

"Peppino," it says succinctly. Then, turning its gaze back to him, it points at him with its other hand, "Peppino."

It doesn't say anything else, but looks at him expectantly.

"...What?"

The clone's hands drop, and its expression flattens, its fat cheeks drooping.

"Look - I don't know why Gus won't let me get rid of you. I'm Peppino! Me!" He slaps his own chest for emphasis. "You - if you're going to try to kill me, just do it, so I can get rid of you!" Peppino stands, a boiling beginning to rise inside of him. "What were you doing in my room? What stopped you from using the gun then, huh!?"

The fake starts at that, shrinking into itself and turning its face away. Whatever brief respite they'd found is crumbling under Peppino's eminent breakdown.

"Well? Clearly you can speak!" Peppino takes a step forward. " You think you can try to replace me? You creep!? Eh!?"

The clone shudders, shaking its head. "Onon… no - no, no."

"I should have told Gus - maybe he would have finally let me kill you!" Peppino's blood is rushing.

"No… li ottel - want… tthhe… the bed." It murmurs, dragging one of its arms into its mouth and gnawing at it. "Li ottel… onnossssleep…"

"You - " It wants to sleep? In his bed? So it is trying to replace him - having that confirmed gives Peppino a chill, even though it's something he knew already. Before he can interrogate it further, though, a painful whine makes him flinch.

The clone has sunk its teeth into its own soft flesh, deeply, but draws no blood. Its chewing minces its attempts at speech even further, and its eyes are wild in misshapen sockets. The clone wails, ragged and deep, its whole body beginning to writhe, and it tears at its own arm - the flesh ripping apart like stringy dough.

The sight is grotesque. Peppino doesn't want to see any more.

"What are you doing!? Stop that!"

Latently, it seems to realize itself, and its jaws part to drop its own shredded arm into its lap. It croaks sickly, mouth hanging open, and gathers up its self inflicted wound with its other hand. "Wanna… sleep. Wanna sleep." It murmurs, eyes anywhere but Peppino.

Peppino's heart is sputtering in his chest. Everything about this - it's terrifying. But he's so, so tired. He can barely work up the fear anymore. It's ridiculous. And he -

he laughs.

Peppino's eyes water and he laughs, slapping his bald forehead.

"You want to sleep? You want to sleep?" He stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the step-stool." What do you think I've been wanting this whole time!? You think I haven't - lost sleep waiting for you to come and snap my neck? Huh!?" Peppino's chest heaves with the breaths he's taking. His face feels hot, and wet, but he continues.

"My own partner chooses you over me, and you think I can sleep? I wanna sleep, too! But I can't, because of you! Because of - all of this!" The Tower. His debt. The string of failures that led him here, in the middle of nowhere with a drowning pizzeria and a nightmare wearing his face.

"God, I want to sleep…" he croaks, sitting back down with a thump and wiping the wetness from his face. Thank god Gustavo isn't here to see this.

It's silent. The creature make no noise, and the booming of fireworks ended a while ago, although Peppino isn't sure when.

When he finally blinks and looks back up, the clone is looking right at him - not chewing on itself anymore, nor showing its teeth. When he meets its gaze, trying to will his shoulders not to shake - it breaks the stare, and looks to the door. It reaches its unruined arm to turn the knob and open it. Without much fanfare, and startling the hell out of Peppino, it stands, and trundles out of the pantry and out of sight.

On the floor, it leaves the remains of its arm. If Peppino didn't know better, he'd think it was dropped pizza dough. But he does know better, and the sight makes him ill.

Peppino takes a deep breath. Releases it. He feels shaky. Is this just - going to continue? For how long? Forever? He needs to talk to Gustavo. He can't do this.

He's so caught up in his thoughts, the gentle slapping of the fake's footsteps don't reach him until the door is already creaking out of the way, the clone creeping back into the pantry. Peppino stands at once, tipping the stool over with a clatter. Why did it come back? He's not ready -

It holds out its hand, and in its grip - a blanket. His blanket. Taken from his bed.

Peppino's mind grinds to a halt. What? What is this? He scowls when he realizes it's trespassed in his room again.

The fake, unbothered by his silence, only wiggles its hand expectantly.

Peppino snatches the blanket with a huff, and the creature draws its hand back. Is it telling him to get sleep ?

"I can't sleep with you here," he snaps, wadding the blanket up in his arms.

The clone tilts its head, and then turns, scooping up the leavings of its arm, and presses itself to the side of the room. It rolls its head towards him and, when Peppino doesn't so much as move, it makes a sweeping gesture with its arm towards the door.

Go ahead and leave, then.

Peppino sputters, but words don't quite come to him. It has a lot of nerve to tell him what to do - but after a moment, he moves forward (not turning his back to the creature for a second) and skitters out of the pantry.

It peers out at him, and Peppino nearly bites his tongue with how fast the words jump out of him.

"You want to sleep? Then sleep in there, and - and stay out of my room!" He does his best to yell, but this exhausted, he just sounds hoarse.

The fake tilts its head again, and bobs it in seeming agreement - that's all Peppino needs to dart forward and grab the knob, slamming the pantry door shut.

He stands, waiting for retaliation - but after a beat, there's only the quiet click of the pull-chain from inside, and the light under the door disappears.

Peppino takes a step back. Then another. He backs all the way to the door of the kitchen, and only turns around when he can't see the pantry door anymore.

He makes it, finally, to his bedroom, locks the door, and braces a chair against it for good measure.

Paranoia should keep him awake, but sleep takes him as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He sleeps undisturbed.

Chapter 6

Peppino wakes up late the next morning. It's the weekend, so they'll be opening later anyway - he's not that worried about it. In fact, he's glad. His mind usually pulls him from sleep before the sun has even risen, leaving him to busy himself until he can open.

When he steps into the kitchen, pajamas still on, he finds that Gus is already here, having let himself in. The rat is at the counter… getting coffee. Sure. Whatever.

The pantry door is open. Peppino tries to peer in as he walks past, but Gus grabs his attention first.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he says, making Peppino roll his eyes. His stomach flutters a little, but he pushes it down.

"You're here early," Peppino responds, sidling up next to the rat to grab a mug. As he does, he notices a dirtied frying pan in the sink that wasn't there last night, spattered with the remains of fried eggs. Did Gus make something? He frowns. He would have liked to eat too…

"The… other guy made us breakfast when we came in," Gus says, as if reading his mind. Peppino jolts at that, turning quickly to face him. Before he can manage a response, Gus continues.

"It was nice of you to let him sleep inside, 'pino." Gus sips his coffee, peering over the rim of his mug.

Peppino's jaw works for a moment before speech finally comes back to him.

"...It was a one time thing." He coughs, turning his eyes away. He doesn't like the way Gus's gaze is pinning him down…

"He left before you came in," Gustavo says, s Peppino's eyes flick again to the pantry, "maybe he heard you wake up."

Peppino hums noncommittally at that, brow furrowing, and grabs the pot to pour himself some coffee. Gus doesn't need to know about anything that went on last night. Well, most of it. There's something he can't bite down any longer…

"...he snuck into my room," Peppino says, staring down at his drink. "The other night."

Gus jumps at this, good mood interrupted, setting his cup down with a clatter.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Peppino shrugs.

"...Peppino," Gus says. The rat scoots away to give them room, and Gus crosses the little kitchen to stand near him. "I'm not… I don't want you to feel like -  " he stops, seeming to chew on his words. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Peppino says, taking a drink.

"Really?"

Peppino rubs at his eyes, and drags his hand down his face. He looks at Gus at last, and sees his business partner's face creased with a tender worry.

"I don't want you to - to not be safe. That's not what this is about - "

"Isn't it?" Peppino bites out, hand tensing around his mug.

"No!" Gus says, a little too emphatically, and takes a moment to collect himself. "I just - I don't think you should be fighting if you don't have to be. I don't want him pushing you out of your own home. That's never what I wanted."

"Could have fooled me," Peppino says bitterly, and regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth, even though he knows he meant it.

"Peppino!" Gus says incredulously. When Peppino doesn't respond or, even look at him, he sighs defeatedly, scuffing his foot against the ground.

"Look, maybe, I…" Gus draws in a breath, eyes darting away. He looks over the kitchen. "...maybe I should sleep over, for a few nights."

Peppino starts.

"What?"

"I don't know why, but - he behaves better when I'm around," Gus shrugs. "Maybe if I'm here, he won't bother you."

"You don't have to do that," Peppino says immediately. He doesn't even have a spare bed. The thought of Gus sleeping in this place, when he could have his own home to get back to, is…

"I do," Gus refutes. "This is all because of me." Now Peppino really regrets what he's said.

"No - you - "

"It was wrong of me to ask this of you," Gus says, even though Peppino is shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," Peppino says, his bitterness falling out of him like sand through a sieve. He doesn't want to hear it, not from Gus.

Gus sighs, his shoulders falling. There's a moment of silence between them.

"...I don't have a bed for you," Peppino says, bringing the topic back on track. "Where would you even sleep?"

"I have a sleeping bag," Gus says, even though Peppino is frowning. "I used to rough it out in the woods all the time when I was younger. This is way easier than that."

This, Peppino knows. He's heard a great deal about how Gustavo spent the majority of his youth on the road, seemingly for the love of it. Gus is no stranger to making things work, but still, Peppino can't stand the thought of him having to sleep on the floor, under his own roof…

A touch at his elbow sends a tingle up his arm, and he finds Gus has brushed his fingertips against him, just for moment, before drawing back.

"Let me make this right."

Peppino takes a deep breath, and at last, nods.

Gustavo certainly can't make it any worse.

Gustavo doesn't sleep over that night, because he doesn't have any of his overnight supplies - he'll bring them the next morning. But at his insistence, Peppino allows Brick to stay behind and keep him company that night. He neither sees nor hears any sign of his double, though he does get rat hair on his mattress.

The next day, Gus arrives with a large tote, containing a cushy looking sleeping bag and a change of clothes, among other things. Peppino feels suddenly ill at ease - is Gus going to stay in his room? It's a mess, even if he barely owns anything. He should have cleaned up. But Gus says that he'll camp out in the kitchen, since it's more likely for the clone to pass through there, and while a weight is lifted from Peppino's mind, something else twists inside him. A sense of missed opportunity, that he quickly pushes down.

In the late afternoon, Peppino departs on his scooter to deliver a few pizzas, leaving Gus alone in the kitchen. It's getting close to their late dinner time, and Gus figures it would be nice to make something for the two of them (other than pizza), so long as he's forcing himself under Peppino's roof.

Spaghetti, he decides, should be fine. He sets up a pan and, between his duties as a pizza chef, begins to prepare a nice vodka sauce. Brick is happy to help here and there, as far as keeping things from burning.

When the back door creaks open, he turns, wondering how Peppino could have returned so fast - but finds the other Peppino peeking in, eyeballs drooping. Of course. He should have expected it, really.

Gustavo gives him a little wave, which the fake returns, its smile brightening. It makes its way into the kitchen, beelining to the stove where Brick is watching the sauce. Brick chitters in warning, his hackles raising.

"It's alright," Gus says, quieting Brick's protests, though the rat still looks put out at the intrusion.

"... Peppino," Gus tentatively uses that name to address the clone once more, "Do you want to take over for Brick? Help me out in the kitchen?"

The fake nods at once, and Gus waves Brick off - the rat pads off into the hall without argument, likely to take a nap in Peppino's bed.

The fake grabs the wooden spoon resting on the counter and stirs at the sauce - then leans close to sniff at it. It warbles something that Gus can't parse, and reaches up to the cabinet, rifling through spices.

"Hey now - what do you think you're doing - "

Just then, the phone rings, distracting Gus from the creature - man? - currently messing with his cooking. He picks it up, giving his usual greeting, and is sidetracked by writing down an order for pickup.

Behind him, the fake finds what it's looking for and pulls out several spice bottles, uncapping and gingerly shaking them in.

When Gus hangs up the phone, The clone is completely absorbed in the act of cooking. Although it riles him to have his cooking messed with, he bites down the reprimand rising in his throat. The fake's smile is… bright. Genuine. Something's different about it when it cooks, a competency that surfaces and makes it seem more like a man than at any other time. It turns its head to him in a sudden movement, making him jump a little, and babbles happily.

"What's that?"

The fake repeats itself, looking back at its handiwork in the pan.

"...I'm sorry, amico," Gus says, scratching at his stubble, "But I still can't understand most of what you say…"

The fake's smile dims a little, but it continues its ministrations, and Gus turns back to his own duties. He's never doubted for a moment that the fake is trying to speak when it opens its mouth - no matter how garbled the sound that comes out. Maybe trying is the wrong word. He is speaking, in a way seemingly only he can understand. The trying comes when the clone is attempting to be understood by Gus and Peppino - the words come like pulled teeth, whether English or Italian. As if being understandable at all runs counter to its nature. But the thing is… it does try, Gus thinks, as he pushes a rolling pin over dough. Which means it - he - wants to be understood.

Something jumps in Gus's chest, and he finds himself unable to put his full strength into the work in front of him. Behind him, a tuneless whistle, now familiar, starts up again.

Gus wants to understand, too.

He turns around.

"Peppino?"

The clone hums, tilting its head towards him, bobbing a little to the quiet sound of the radio.

"While you're here - there's something I need to ask you about," Gus says, wringing his hands. The fake doesn't respond, but an eyeball is still rolled in his direction - it's paying attention.

"Pe - the… other Peppino said you snuck into his room the other night."

The clone's idle bobbing stops.

"Why did you…" Gus trails off, hesitant to get accusatory. "What happened between the two of you?"

The fake stops stirring the pan, resting the wooden spoon on its edge. Gus can see its mouth work as it chews the inside of its cheek, eyes darting away. Eventually, it mumbles something that Gus can't grasp.

"What? Speak up…"

"Oiim li... room… urghh," it swallows thickly, eyes squinching shut, and starts again, "It's… it's myy room."

Gus frowns. Peppino's fears about the creature trying to replace him rise to the surface of his mind, and he tries to shake them away. Surely it knows better. The Tower is gone…

"It's…" Gus wrings his hands again. He has to tread carefully. "You might feel that way, but… Peppino needs a space to himself. This is his restaurant, after all. Maybe we can - "

Gus cuts himself off as the creature growls, shaking its head with a vigor. It steps back from the stove, and Gus hops off his stool to follow. It presses its face into its long hands, shoulders hunching.

"Onon.. no no. Pep- pepppinohh… pizza. Nothing… urgh. Peppino - I'm Peppino," it shakes its head again, and before Gus can respond, pulls its face out of its hands, revealing eyes that have sunk deep into dark sockets. Gus's heart jumps into his throat, and whatever diplomatic response he had leaves him entirely.

"You - can't be," he blurts instead, and knows at once it was the wrong thing to say. The fake grimaces - its smile becoming twisted and strange. It warbles, high and shrill - and Gus scrambles to soften the blow of what he's just said.

"There's two of you, and - he's afraid," Gus steps forward, despite himself. "I can't let you terrify him. We need to - "

The clone wails, sick and sharp - and in a fluid motion, darts past Gus towards the back door.

Gus jumps when the creature runs - he'd be lying if some part of him didn't fear being attacked - but as the creature slams the door shut, he decides he isn't done yet. As quickly as he can, he turns the knob on the burner to low, and follows after it.

Out on the back porch, it's damp - it's only just beginning to sprinkle with rain. He worries that the clone has already disappeared, as it's wont to - but as he peers this way and that through the dimming light, he can see its silhouette standing at the mouth of the alley - facing the hilly field where the Tower used to stand.

Carefully, Gus picks his way down the stone step and approaches it from behind.

Its shoulders hunch at his approaching footsteps, hands digging into its crossed arms, but makes no move to leave. As Gus reaches its side, peering up at it through the mist, it murmurs to itself quietly.

"Amico?"

The fake shakes its head at this, fingers squeezing at its flesh. Gustavo waits for it to find its voice.

"You're… Peppino's friend."

Gus remembers - he's been told this before, the night the clone stayed with him. There was something else it tried to say that night, as well - something he still hasn't been able to make sense of.

"I am," Gus settles for saying. "And yours, too."

"You… hrrm," the fake swallows, its fat tongue swiping over its lip. "Nuaq… wh... when," it says with some force, as if the word is jumping out of it, "When werrre youu… myy friend?"

The question doesn't mean much, at first - but as its meaning settles into him, Gus feels cold. Like ice is pricking through his veins. The creature has swiveled an eye to look right at him - and even set in such a strange face, Gus can feel the hardness in its gaze.

There are a few things, at this point, that Gus understands.

The clone feels, on some level, that it is Peppino.

The clone knows that Gustavo and Peppino are friends.

The clone knows that Gustavo and itself have never had the time to become friends at all - that the friendship that Gus has insisted upon is a decision he made when he saw the clone for the very first time, terrified of a storm and searching for Gustavo's comfort without understanding why.

And finally - Gus understands that these things are fundamentally at odds with one another.

The rain sends a chill through the air as its pace picks up, darkening the pavement and soaking the vast field behind the restaurant.

"I… I don't know," Gustavo answers honestly, and pulls his toque off of his head to crumple it in his hands. "I guess I… I just decided I was. Peppino is my friend. And if you're Peppino too, then… I supposed that made us friends as well." Gus shrugs.

The clone doesn't answer, though Gus can hear a quiet murmur in its chest.

"...was I wrong?" Gus asks, looking back up.

The fake's grumbling grows louder. Its eyes are on the hills that stretch out to the horizon, ruined chunks of the Tower still visible even from here. It hides its face in its hands again, moaning soft, warped syllables to itself.

"Don't… don't know," it says, intelligible at last, rocking itself where it stands. "Nothing… nothing compares…"

Gustavo knows the phrase it keeps repeating - it's Peppino's own slogan, a sick irony for a creature meant to imitate him. Gus isn't sure he has the answer that will fix any of this - that will balance Peppino's fears against this creature's entire purpose. Who is Gus to deny a man his own identity?

"...do you want me as your friend?" he settles for asking, staring up at the towering creature beside him.

It takes a moment, but the clone pulls its hands from its face, still gently swaying. It looks miserable. The moisture in the air has made its skin slimy, and its face droops like a rubber mask. Its head bobs: up, down. Yes.

"Then I am," Gus says resolutely, and, although his own heart stutters, he reaches up to take a few of the creature's slimy fingers into his own. "Do you… should I keep calling you Peppino?"

The clone sways - then shrugs. Gustavo almost wants to laugh. It's a stunningly human gesture, for such a nightmarish creature. He stifles himself, though, and squeezes its fingers.

"Let's go inside, Pep. We've got to finish dinner, don't we?"

The fake is quiet, but the grimace on its face softens, and it nods its head. Gustavo tugs at its hand, and leads it gently back inside.

Back inside the restaurant, Gustavo removes his damp apron, and hangs up his toque as well. The fake - glistening in the light - wavers uncertainly when Gustavo releases it. Gus checks on the sauce (it's fine) and then the dough he had been in the middle of rolling. He hears the gentle slapping of the clone's feet as it sloughs its way into the pantry, and decides to leave it be, for now. Working speedily to get the pizza finished, it's only after he's pushed it into the oven that the clone emerges, far less shiny and with a great deal of flour on its hands.

"Just in time," Gustavo says, smiling, "can you put on a pot of water for me?"

The fake brightens again, and does as it's asked. In no time at all, the water is boiling, the pizza is coming out of the oven, and Gustavo is filling a bowl with sauce and pasta.

Peppino should be coming through the door any minute now - as should the customer that placed the pickup order. Zipping the pizza into an insulated case, Gustavo figures there should be no harm in eating now. He's hungry - and figures the other Peppino is, too. (Just what has he been eating, in all this time Peppino's been keeping him from coming inside? Gus isn't sure he wants to know.)

Gustavo pulls a stool from the dining area and into the kitchen so that he can comfortably sit at the counter, and liberates a bottle of wine from the pantry. The clone has already pulled out two wine glasses without being asked - Gus wonders if it's the Peppino in him, or just the Italian. It's the Italian, he decides, as the fake pulls two plates out as well, serving itself and Gustavo with a practiced hand.

What had the clone actually done to change his cooking? Gus is curious - and on the first bite, he can't help but raise his eyebrows. It's good. It's not what he was planning, but every flavor is punching above its weight. He finds himself thinking again that the clone is a damn good cook.

Gus tells him as much, and he babbles happily, twirling spaghetti onto his fork before pulling it off with a dexterous tongue. Gustavo chides himself for wondering, at first, if the clone would even use any utensils. He's clearly a chef, he knows how to eat - even if he does it a little unorthodoxly.

The wine is good enough, but Gus finds himself wishing he'd pulled out a nicer bottle. He pours himself and the fake a glass, and watches with some amusement as it struggles to fit its thick, rubbery lips against the rim, before settling for lapping the drink out like a cat.

It's easy for Gustavo to fill the space between them. Even with the clone unable to communicate in anything more than a few words at a time, there isn't a quiet moment. Gus has always been a chatterbox, and his praise of the clone's cooking turns to discussion on pasta, to a story about cooking on the road, to an anecdote about how his great aunt makes a certain gnomish recipe. The bottle empties, and so the clone hops off its seat for another. They end up tittering to each other in the dim kitchen, grins plastered on their faces, Peppino's lingering absence and their no-show customer footnotes in the haze between them.

Gustavo can't help but think that the warmth in his chest has got to be more than just the alcohol. The man in front of him - and he is a man, not a monster, or a child - has something in him that captivates Gus, even if he hardly speaks, even if he can be terrifying and alien. Maybe it's because of those things, rather than in spite of them - that Gus has to peer between his strange expression and warped speech to find what he's really saying. There are times when the vacant smile on his face isn't really a smile at all - Gus has seen it. But here, with his face dripping like a candle as he listens to Gustavo, head propped by an equally droopy arm - Gus knows that the crooked grin on his face is genuine. Gus wants to keep himself from comparing them any more, but - god - it really is just like drinking the night away with Peppino. But this Peppino - when Gus reaches to place a hand by his elbow - he doesn't shy away. And he fills Gustavo's glass for him, before he fills his own, like he's waiting on him. And when Gus points it out - rather than bluster as Peppino would, he just grins, tipping his glass in Gustavo's direction. There's a flush on his cheeks.

He hasn't got any hesitation, Gus thinks. Despite how hard Gustavo has to work to understand him, nothing is ever purposefully hidden.

"I'm glad you came back inside," Gus says, cheeks warm. The clone hums back at him.

"You know - you are a little different from Peppino. And it's not a bad thing," he amends quickly, as the clone's smile fades a little.

"I told Peppino this, but I didn't really tell you. I want to help the two of you get along. The Tower is gone. You don't need to fight anymore."

The clone's head turns away, murmuring in a way Gus has come to recognize as negative. Wine is making his own tongue loose - he shouldn't push so much, when he's only just calmed the clone back down.

"I know what Peppino thinks, but - there's room for the both of you here. I really believe that," he says, watching the clone glance sidelong at him. Its mouth opens, then closes, a few times over, groaning softly in its throat. Gus waits.

"Hhw… why…? Believe that…" the clone stares morosely down at him.

"I don't know," Gus says honestly. "But I do. Do you know how Brick and I became friends? We met in the Tower, too."

The clone shakes his head, turning to look at Gus a little more directly. Gus begins recounting - that the rat had chased him around the first floor of the Tower while Peppino was busy searching for a way up. Eventually, Gus found it in himself to fight back - and they beat the absolute hell out of each other. At the end, they were both so exhausted, Gus had called it a draw. Waiting for Peppino to show up again, they had plenty of time to talk - well, Gustavo did - and before he knew it, they were traveling together through the Tower's corridors. It sounds ridiculous, now that Gus has put it into words, but it's the truth. Just like everything else that happened in the Tower.

The clone's attention on him doesn't stray. Gustavo wonders if he'll ever get a clear picture of what's going on inside his head.

Their heart to heart is interrupted by a chittering at the kitchen's exit - Brick is standing there, fur ruffled from a nap that lasted too long. He sits up, scratching at his chest, and squeaks at Gus.

The shrill sound pulls Gus from the comfy haze he's been lost in. Just what time is it? A look at the clock makes his stomach curl with worry. Peppino should have been back a long time ago, and he's not going to be happy about the no-show.

He says as much to the other Peppino and Brick, hopping off the stool. When he does, he has to take a moment to steady himself. He's still a little too warm under the skin - a clammy hand envelops his shoulder, helping him balance. He pats at the fake's wrist.

"Thanks, Pep. Can you help me put the food away?"

The clone nods, and the leftover pasta is tucked in the fridge. Gus isn't sure what to do about the extra pizza, so it gets shoved in there as well. The phone hasn't rung. Just where is Peppino? It's still steadily raining, although it's not a storm. Maybe he had pulled over to wait out the rain. But it's getting late, and Gus doesn't think staying out past dark in the weather is safe. Neither of them own cell phones, so it's not as if he can call to check on him. The only thing he can do is wait.

With the clone's help, Gustavo cleans up the kitchen, and closes up shop for the night. He pulls out the overnight pack he'd brought that morning and rolls his sleeping bag out in front of the oven - the clone watches this curiously, tilting its head and pointing to it with a babble.

"This? Oh - I offered to sleep over here for a little while," Gustavo says, fluffing an old pillow.

"Why?" The clone says clearly, and Gustavo jumps a little. He has to avoid a repeat of the incident from earlier, he realizes, but he doesn't want to lie.

"Peppino's nervous," Gus settles on saying vaguely, "I just wanted to give him some support."

The clone only hums in response, turning back to where it was putting away dishes. Across the room, Brick chitters, looking towards the back door.

"What's that-?"

The back door's knob shudders violently, and the sound of the downpour fills the room as Peppino emerges from the dark, drenched from head to toe.

"Peppino!"

Gus jumps up, running over to him at once.

"What happened - ?"

"The vespa got a flat," Peppino says tersely, face dark with exhaustion. "I had to walk back." He tosses the bike's keys on the counter. His boots squeak against the tile as he trudges in and begins to shrug off his coat.

Gus steals a glance behind himself - but the clone is nowhere to be seen. Did he hide when Peppino appeared? If he did, Peppino hadn't seen him do it, too caught up in his own miserable little world.

"There's spaghetti in the fridge," Gustavo says, but Peppino just shakes his head, "and I closed  already." He won't mention the pizza for now - it'll just piss Peppino off more. Peppino barely acknowledges him.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he says, "and go to bed. If you don't mind. I'm tired."

Gustavo nods. "Of course. Go ahead," he says, and steps out of the way for Peppino to leave the kitchen.

After Peppino has stepped out, there's a few beats of silence before the clone pokes his head from the pantry, warbling hesitantly. Gus releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"There you are. It's good he didn't see you," Gus sighs, returning to his pack. "I should get ready for bed, myself."

As he rifles through the pack for his pajamas and a toothbrush, Brick comes to curl up next to his sleeping bag. It won't be so bad sleeping on the kitchen floor - Gus has slept in worse places. He brushes his teeth at the kitchen sink. The clone is hovering in the door to the pantry, like it's waiting for something. Does he think Gus will kick him out?

"You already know that Peppino won't be happy to find you in here," Gus says, wiping his mouth, "but I'm not gonna make you sleep outside."

The clone warbles a sound that Gus takes as a "thank you" or maybe just an "okay". Gus shuts the light, and begins to undress, undoing the buttons on his pants - when remembers that he has company. He turns only to see that the clone has suddenly found the inside of the pantry very interesting. Gus allows a smile to curl on his lips, and puts his night clothes on. When he tucks himself into his sleeping bag at last, he sidles up against Brick's warm mass, and closes his eyes.

The room is quiet for only a brief moment before he hears the gentle sounds of the clone's steps come towards him, and opens his eyes to see a large, dark shape settle on his other side.

As his eyes adjust to the dark, he can barely make out the clone's droopy face, peering at him through the dark. Gus can feel Brick tense through the fiber of the sleeping bag.

"Do you want to sleep next to me?" Gus asks, hushed. The clone nods. Despite himself, Gus feels a little warm under the cover of the sleeping bag, and it's not just from the rat, or the wine.

"That's fine," he says, patting Brick's side. "Just don't let Peppino see you in the morning. Okay?"

"Ohh-kayy." It whispers, pulling its legs up and nestling against the floor.

"Goodnight," Gustavo says, curling into Brick.

"Goood… night… friennd Guhstaahvoh."

Chapter 7

Peppino had slept like the dead last night. He wasn't bothered once - not by mysterious noises, nor by his insatiable stalker creeping into his room. Whether he was simply too exhausted to be awoken, or Gustavo genuinely kept the clone at bay, he doesn't know, but he wakes feeling rested for the first time in a while, despite the ordeal he went through. The thought of meeting Gustavo in the kitchen fills him with a strange giddiness. He wants to make them breakfast. Hadn't the clone made Gus breakfast once before? He's sure he could do a better job.

Peppino gets dressed and trots into the kitchen to see that Gus is still sleeping, curled against Brick like a big warm pillow. It's… heartwarming. Peppino steps a little more lightly, but his mirth fades as he approaches the pantry. Though his heart skips, he goads himself into pushing the door open to peer into the dark - but nothing's in there. He's able to turn the light on without incident. He continues to keep an eye out, but nothing seems out of place… was it really as easy as having Gus sleep here, to keep his double in check? What is it about Gus that has the creature heeding his commands? Peppino frowns as he pulls a pan off the wall. Does that say something about himself, then…? He shakes his head. No. He and that creature have nothing in common - it's foolish to entertain it, even for a moment. He busies himself with cooking, and pushes the thought from his mind.

Gustavo wakes to see that only Brick has remained beside him in the night. The clone has moved - at first, Gus thinks that he's hidden again, but as he turns over, he can see a familiar shadow across the floor. It's making him breakfast again. That's nice.

"What do you want in your eggs, Gustavo?" Peppino's voice rings clearly.

Gustavo jolts, sitting up in an instant. That's not - that's the real Peppino. Not the clone. He'd confused one for the other…

When it takes him too long to answer, Peppino speaks again. "Gus? You up?"

"Mm," Gus hums, nodding, shuffling his way out of the sleeping bag. What time is it? He'd thought better than to bring an alarm clock into Peppino's home, but he didn't think he'd need it, anyway…

"Did you sleep well?" Peppino asks, cracking an egg into the pan, filling the room with a sizzling. He's being unusually chatty.

"I slept just fine," Gus says. "What time is it…?"

"Still early. I guess my kitchen floor is pretty comfy, eh?"

"It's not the worst," Gus says, brightening. He starts to roll up his sleeping bag. Beside him, Brick yawns and stretches. There's no sign of the clone anywhere. Maybe this will be easier than Gus thought.

"Did you, ah, sleep alright…?"

"For once," Peppino says, grabbing a spatula. "Your "friend" didn't come to visit me in the night."

Gustavo isn't sure how to take Peppino calling them friends, but that he slept is good to hear. It seems the fake did stay by Gus's side last night. Although, Gus wishes he knew where the clone was now. For such a large creature, he certainly knows how to slip away unnoticed. There's not much to worry about, though - Gus has a feeling he'll be seeing the clone again soon enough.

Not long after breakfast, Peppino heads into the walk-in freezer to pull out the dough for the day, and as soon as he disappears - 

"Gustahv?"

Gustavo jumps, turning to see the fake's head peeking around the corner and into the kitchen. Just where did he come from? And nevermind that - Peppino will be walking back in any moment -

"Get out of here!" Gus shoos, waving at him. The way the clone's face falls a little is enough to make him hesitate - but Gustavo doesn't know how Peppino will react if -

The door to the walk-in is pushed open from within, and Peppino backs into the kitchen pulling a tall rack of prepared dough. His focus on his task, he doesn't see the clone lurking just beyond his line of sight.

"Gustavo, could you get the fire in the oven going?" he says, turning. "I still need to change the tire on the - what?"

Gustavo's panic must be on his face. He isn't able to answer Peppino's request, only stare behind him, where the clone is advancing around the rack to stand directly behind Peppino.

Peppino blinks, and turns, following Gus's gaze - just as the clone opens its mouth to babble a greeting.

Peppino shrieks, nearly jumping a foot in the air, hand clutching at his chest.

"Son of a bitch! What do you think you're doing here!?"

"Peppino - !" Gus quickly crosses the kitchen to stand at Peppino's side.

Unaffected by either Peppino or Gustavo's panic, the clone's attention is taken by the dough, and he idly pulls at one of the racks.

"Ostapmi? Hhhthe the… dough today?"

Gustavo can see Peppino fuming - but as he comes close, Peppino's gaze flicks towards Gus, and he rolls his shoulders, taking a deep breath through his nose, as if willing himself still. His hands curl into fists.

"Out. Get out!" Before Gustavo can say a word, Peppino bursts forward, shoving the clone away from the rack. "Hands off the dough! Get back!"

The clone murmurs in confusion, long legs stumbling underneath itself as Peppino boxes it out of the kitchen and towards the back door. Gustavo gets the feeling that a creature that powerful could definitely move out of the way and avoid Peppino entirely - it's like it's allowing itself to be bullied across the room.

"That's it! Go!" As they reach the door, Peppino quickly reaches around his double to open it, and shoves the clone through. As it stumbles to regain its footing on the concrete steps, Peppino slams the door shut, wiping his hands off with a huff.

Gustavo can't help but feel surprised. Sure, it wasn't gentle , but that's the least violent he's seen Peppino be with his clone. No punches were thrown, at the very least.

Peppino trudges back into the kitchen, a haggard look falling over his face as his anger dissipates. Still - 

"You did a good job with him, Peppino." Gus says, patting Peppino's arm as he walks by.

"Huh? Oh…" Peppino shrugs, avoiding his eyes. "Sure."

It's a low bar, but he'll take it.

The rest of the day passes on without incident. Peppino worries that the clone will bother him when he goes outside to change the tire on the vespa, but it's hiding itself once again, leaving himself and Gustavo to tend the shop in some semblance of normalcy. Peppino hovers over Gus fretfully when he pulls out his sleeping bag in the evening, but Gus continues to insist he doesn't mind sleeping on the ground. Peppino isn't convinced, but he backs off, at least.

The fake joins Gustavo on the floor once again that night, creeping out of the shadows after Peppino has left. It maintains a careful distance between their bodies, close but not too close. How would it react if Gustavo closed that distance? He's not sure.

Gus isn't sure where it goes when he doesn't see it. It should be hard to hide something that large. It's certainly staying nearby, though, if its continued intrusions into the pizzeria are anything to go by.

As Gus spends his nights under the pizzeria's roof, Peppino doesn't report any further incidents in his bedroom, nor interruptions to his sleep. For this, Gus is grateful - but one night sleeping over turns into another, and then another, as it becomes clear that even though it's no longer harassing Peppino in the night, the clone isn't going anywhere. No matter how many times Peppino removes it during the day, it keeps finding its way back into the building. Peppino's given up on his new habit of rechecking the locks - what's the point, if it gets in anyway? And Gus can't bring himself to shoo the clone out when it inevitably ends up in the kitchen - usually while Peppino is out running deliveries. Half the time, it has the sense to hide from Peppino upon his return - but sometimes, it doesn't bother - does it not care? Or does it truly get a kick out of riling Peppino up? In any case, the fake is beginning to understand what it can get away with now that Gustavo is around. And Gus doesn't know what kind of havoc it'll wreak when he finally packs up and goes home. So he stays put, at home on Peppino's kitchen floor.

After an evening of deliveries, Peppino returns to find the clone in the front lobby, broom in hand, dutifully sweeping away. A job Gus had given him - and that Peppino will now be taking away. Gus watches from the kitchen as the clone nimbly steps out of Peppino's reach each time he tries to snatch the broom. It's… entertaining, to say the least. And though Peppino's clearly frustrated, when he raises his voice, it no longer carries a tremble.

More than ever, Gus is certain that staying over is the right choice, now matter how long he has to do it for. Maybe he should invest in a cot, or something. He'll ask Peppino about it.

Peppino manages to swipe the broom away at last, and the clone gives a disappointed little croak. Peppino proceeds to bat at it until it backs out the front entrance, and locks the door, leaving it to stand dolefully just outside the restaurant.

Peppino grumbles something about the clone scaring off customers - not that they get many people dining in, anyway - as he stalks into the kitchen. Gus keeps himself at the front facing counter that night, so that Peppino doesn't have to endure the clone staring at him through the glass door like a sad dog.

The next day - the sixth that Gustavo will spend under the pizzeria's roof - is marked with Peppino's neat, blocky handwriting on the calendar. They'll be getting a delivery in the morning. Nothing that should be unusual, but Peppino frets to Gus about several things that night over dinner - one, that he owes the delivery company a not-insignificant amount of money, and the only reason they agreed to show up is that he promised to pay them, in cash, on arrival. Gus already knows that this is money they do not have. Peppino's only hope is to negotiate for another extension… somehow.

Second, he is worried that their new guest will interfere with this exchange somehow - whether by eating the driver or scaring him off - and leaving them without supplies for the foreseeable future. The situation is pretty dire - which is business as usual.

Peppino drinks himself into a sad, sleepy stupor that night, and eventually stumbles off to bed at Gus's urging. They can clean up the dark pink stain of spilled wine in the morning. For now, Gus has his own worries to lull him to sleep.

Peppino wakes too early with a dull headache and an empty sickness in his gut. Maybe he drank a little too much, he thinks, as he lugs himself out of bed and down the hall to take a shower. He needs coffee. Him and Gus have to figure something out before the truck gets here.

In the bathroom, Peppino glances at his face in the mirror. Older and uglier with each passing day - he pulls at the bags under his eyes and rubs at the stubble on his cheeks. Nothing to be done about it. On the sink's rim is a cup with two more toothbrushes than usual. One for Gustavo and one for - what, the rat?

Peppino pulls his attention away from his own face and disrobes, stepping into the shower,  turning the water on full blast without waiting for it to warm. He bites his tongue as the chill pours over him, prickling his skin and forcibly clearing the fog of sleep from his mind.

Sharing his space with Gus has been… novel. He hasn't had another man in his space like this since - back then. It's not a time he prefers to think about. Being there was bad enough, but the hovering threat of - discovery - he shakes the thought from his mind. What matters is Peppino has lived very much alone since then. He's become unused to sharing his space, even if Gus doesn't take up that much room. Two people, and a giant rat, and that thing in this tiny place is getting a little crowded.

Peppino continuously finds himself wishing he had a better place for Gus to sleep than the floor of the kitchen, no matter how much Gus assures him he's fine. He should have a bed for him, at least. Keeping that creature at bay in the night, however he does it, has given Peppino his sleep back. He has to repay Gus… somehow. He considers offering Gus his room, but it's such a mess... and what if Gus refuses? Peppino's not sure he could take that. He could, at the very least, prevent them both from going out of business. Peppino scowls, and turns the shower head off.

Soon enough, he's dressed and sipping coffee in the kitchen with Gus, waiting for the rumble of tires in the alley.

Neither of them have seen the clone that morning - Peppino isn't sure if that's a good or a bad thing. He'd like for it to stay gone, but as long as it's out of sight, Peppino doesn't know where it is .

"Peppino? Did you hear me?"

Peppino swivels his head towards Gustavo, who's staring at him expectantly. Had he been asked a question? As Peppino's mouth hangs silent, Gus repeats himself.

"I said, do you have any ideas?"

Peppino scowls, sighing.

"No, Gustavo, I don't. If they don't give us an extension - I don't know. We'll just have to offer what we can."

Gustavo says nothing, but his brow twists with worry. It has to work out. It has to work out because he's put everything into this business, and he's not going to lose it now over supply chain issues .

In the corner, Brick perks up, sitting on his haunches and chittering. Just a moment after, the familiar sound of fat tires rolling down the alley echoes from the back door. Judgement day.

Peppino takes a deep breath, and hops off his stool. He can already feel the stress headache coming on from how tightly his brow is furrowed. Nonetheless, he makes his way to the back porch, patting his pocket to assure himself he has his checkbook with him.

In the crisp morning air of the alley, the delivery truck has rolled to a stop just outside the concrete steps. The door to the front cabin opens, and out hops a pig.

One of the pig men from the Tower has been driving their area's delivery truck since the Tower fell. He's - fine. He's just some guy. But the fact that Peppino destroyed the pig's home to defend his own is not lost on either of them. Asking for mercy now may as well be trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

The pig makes his way around the hood of the truck, hooves clicking neatly on the asphalt.

"Spaghetti," he greets, pulling no punches, "You got the payment?"

Peppino opens his mouth, then shuts it, teeth clacking together. Behind him, he hears the door creak as Gus follows him outside.

"I," he starts, "I have a part of it."

The pig is already shaking his head, taking a step back.

"No - wait! Please. We just need a good week - "

"Ain't what we agreed on. We need it all today."

"I don't have it yet - "

"Then I can't make this delivery," the pig says, looking out at Peppino from under the brim of his hat.

With Peppino at a loss for words, Gustavo pipes up.

"If we could just - "

"I told you, it's not gonna happen." After a moment, the pig's shoulders fall. "Look. I've got a job to do here, too. 's not my place to cut you another break. You got a problem, take it up with the boss."

Peppino's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He's not going to be able to find another supplier - he's gone through all the ones that will deliver this far out - and now -

The truck jostles, startling all three of them.

"What was that?" The pig says, just as the truck lurches again, and a metal clang sounds - like something hitting the ground - and then - the rattling sound of the truck's back door rolling upwards. The pig's face pinches with rage.

"Hey! Who the hell is back there!?" He barks in  Peppino's direction as he storms to the back of the truck. "This better not be your fault!"

"What - I didn't do anything!" Peppino protests, just as a tall, dark shape lumbers into view, a crate under its arm.

It's his double. Who else could it be?

The pig stops dead in his tracks, looking up - and up. The clone is nearly as tall as the truck. Silhouetted by the low sun, its face is cast in darkness, the gleam on its eyes barely visible.

"What…" the pig breathes, taking a step back.

"Angesnoc," the clone warbles, stepping around the pig, who scrambles to put his back to the side of the truck. The fake lopes toward the back door, and places the crate on the ground near Gustavo's feet, before turning and heading back for another.

"H-hey. Hey! You can't just take those!" The pig pipes up, his courage returning, blocking the clone's path after it gets its hands on another box.

His burst of confidence is short-lived as the clone turns its gaze toward him, babbling something that sounds like a question.

"You - th-those aren't… paid for!" There's a beat. The pig seems to realize something. "And you - broke into my truck!"

He stomps his hoof, and glances back towards Peppino. "D-does this - freaky guy work for you!? You're gonna have to pay for this!"

" Paaayy for thiss ..." The clone echoes, stopping the pig's rant in its tracks, and gaining his attention once again.

"Y-you…" the pig's voice trembles.

At the step, Peppino and Gustavo are transfixed by what's occurring before them. It occurs to Peppino that he should probably stop his clone from breaking the truck, or eating this guy, but - that might solve their problem, right? At least for the short term? Gustavo steps around the stolen crate to stand at Peppino's side and look up at him. Is he thinking the same thing? Or is he judging Peppino for not acting? He certainly isn't doing anything himself.

Peppino's pulled from his thoughts by a wet cough. The clone gurgles, and reaches into its own gaping mouth. Sick. By the pig's cry of disgust, he shares the sentiment.

After a moment, the fake pulls out a sopping green wad, proffering it in the pig's direction.

"Paagamenttooo," it warbles.

The pig makes no attempt to accept the money. He looks back at Peppino - who can only think to shrug. This thing doesn't work for him. What's he supposed to do about it?

The fake waggles the wad of cash, and eventually, the pig holds his hands out, grimacing as the dripping mass plops into his hands.

Satisfied, the clone continues in its duties of unloading the truck. After staring at the slop in his hands, the pig turns back to Peppino.

"You - you can't honestly expect me to accept this?"

Something sparks in Peppino's mind. He crosses his arms.

"Hey, if you don't like what he gave you, go ahead and tell him."

The pig blanches, and looks back up at the clone, who's just finished hauling what must be a several hundred pound crate without any visible effort. Noticing the pig's attention, the clone smiles vacantly at him, wide and eerie.

"...Fine," the pig rasps, and trots briskly around Peppino, presumably to throw the cash-wad into his truck. "But this isn't happening again. Next time, you gotta pay up. Whatever's left. And the damage."

Peppino winces. The pig wipes his hands on his jacket.

"Just - get your stuff out of the truck so I can get the hell out of here."

He mumbles something more that Peppino can't hear, stalking a distance away from the truck to have a smoke. Gustavo wordlessly gets his hands on a crate, hauling it into the restaurant. The fake places another box by the step.

Looks like they're getting an extension after all.

Peppino rolls his shoulders, grabs a crate, and lifts with his legs.

When the truck rolls off at last, the knot in Peppino's chest doesn't entirely loosen, but it no longer feels, at least, like his entire world's about to end.

Gustavo and himself (and his clone) do the dutiful work of hauling supplies into the pantry and the fridge. The clone works like he's done this before - which Peppino knows he has not - and the only reason Peppino hasn't kicked him out again is because it would mean having to do all the work the fake is doing for him. That's all. The damn thing better not expect to get paid.

When they're done, Peppino pulls out his beat-up clipboard to take inventory - not really necessary, he thinks, as he keeps track of everything in his head, anyway, but paper records have been helpful with the whole 'climbing out of debt' thing.

From the pantry, he can see Gustavo, and Brick, and the fake gathered in a little group. The rat chatters, and the clone burbles, and Gus responds as if he can understand them.

Whatever. He's always been like that.

Peppino loses himself in rows of salami, and when he's finished, he exits the pantry to find Gus busying himself with prepping for the rest of the day. The fake is nowhere to be seen - Peppino had really expected it to keep hanging around.

"You all done in there?" Gus asks.

"Uh - yeah," Peppino glances around, just to be sure. "Where's - uh…"

"The other guy?"

Peppino nods mutely.

"He wandered off. I thought for sure he'd stay," Gus says, shrugging. "It was pretty convenient he showed up when he did, eh?"

Peppino doesn't miss the sidelong glance Gus is giving him, and scoffs.

"Yeah. Now I've got to pay for the damages to that guy's truck. More money we don't have."

"And we're open for another day."

Peppino can't argue with that. So he just sighs, and falls into the regular pace of prepping the kitchen.

If he hears thumping from the vents, he ignores it.

That night, Gus rolls his sleeping bag out once again. He'll need to ask Peppino where the closest laundromat is out here - he's running out of clothes. He supposes he could head home to do them at the apartment's laundry, but that would mean leaving Peppino alone for the night… He doesn't want all the progress they've made to be ruined by Peppino's clone making a poor decision while he's gone.

Speaking of... The clone should be here to lay next to him by now, but is conspicuously absent. The dark shape of him is missing from the kitchen's shadows. Worry curls in Gustavo's stomach. He shuffles out of his sleeping bag, drawing a sleepy grumble from Brick.

"Sorry. I'll be right back…"

In the still dark, Gustavo finds his way out of the kitchen, and down the hall to Peppino's room. He doesn't really think about why he came here first until the closed door is staring him in the face.

The clone could be anywhere else. But if it's crept into Peppino's room again - he doesn't want to deal with the fallout of that. He doesn't want Peppino to deal with that. But he can't just barge in there. Peppino may be sleeping already - and what is he meant to say? That the clone has been spending its nights in the kitchen, and now Gustavo's lost track of it? He doesn't want either of those things on Peppino's mind.

Gus worries his hands, and stares at the doorknob. What can he do?

The door opens before he can make a decision, and he stumbles out of the way - to see Peppino visibly jump at the sight of him, inexplicably standing in the doorway.

"Gus? Is something wrong?"

Gus opens his mouth - and draws a blank, his mind giving him nothing to work with.

"I - well, no, I just…"

Peppino grips the side of the doorframe, leaning against it.

"...Are you cold in the kitchen?"

"Oh - no, I'm fine! I've got Brick, in any case, you don't need to worry about that…"

"Then what did you need?"

"I, ah… I was just thinking. If - I'm going to be staying here a while. I figured I could go to the laundromat before we open, but I don't know where it is…" It isn't a very convincing bluff, but was on his mind anyway.

Peppino shifts on his feet, wavering in the doorway. It's hard to make out his expression in the dark.

"...It's just down the street. I can show you in the morning…"

"Great! That's, uh, all I needed to know - "

"...Gus, wait."

Gustavo's attempt to pivot away is thwarted before he can even try.

"Just… how long do you plan on sleeping over?"

Gus blanches. Does Peppino want him to leave?

"...Peppino, have I - "

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Peppino hurriedly continues, "You dealing with - him. It's just, you have a home to be in, and I can't even offer you a bed. It's not right."

"Peppino - "

"I can take it from here with - the other guy," Peppino says, although Gus has his doubts. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to - sleep on the floor - "

"I want to be here," Gus says simply. "Do you want me to go home, Peppino?"

Peppino's mouth opens and shuts, gaping like a fish.

"No!"

"No?"

There's a beat of silence between them. Peppino's hand grips the doorframe.

"I - I just… if you're going to be staying here a while," Peppino says, swallowing. "You don't have to sleep in the kitchen. I can - I can make room, in here. For you."

Gustavo feels something loosen in his chest.

"...I'd like that."