Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A call of goodnight! and the chime of a bell indicated the departure of the final customer of the night. Peppino glanced at the clock; closing time had arrived. He washed his hands, toweled them dry, and put away some of the ingredients he’d used to make pizzas throughout the day. He smoothed his tank top over his stomach and gently shouldered through the kitchen doors. His stout companion, Gustavo, stood at the counter with Brick at his side. The giant rat appeared to be asleep, but Gustavo turned around with a smile and adjusted his chef’s hat.

“There you are,” he said happily. “There’s a tip waiting for you on the table.”

Peppino looked across the restaurant, where the customer had been seated at a window booth. Sure enough, a few bills and some coins rested on the table. He thanked Gustavo and collected the money.

“He’s still out there, by the way.”

Peppino turned around, confused, before he remembered. “Of course. Has he moved at all?”

“Nope.”

Peppino gazed out the window, and he sighed. Snow came down hard, it had been all week, yet a tall figure in a trench coat and fedora had been outside for the past six hours, facing away from the pizzeria. Under their hat, the distinctive triangular shape of a pizza slice made their identity very obvious. He snorted angrily and walked back to the counter, cash in hand.

“I don’t get what he’s playing at. We both know who that is, right?”

“Of course.” Gustavo moved out of the way while Peppino stuck the money into the cash register. “He’s determined, that’s for sure.”

“He’s creeping me out.”

“You think we should talk to him?”

Peppino hummed, rubbing his chin absently. For once, he decided to gather all of the facts instead of charging headfirst into the problem. Pizzahead was reusing disguises now; he must have run out of new ones. His unusual stillness could potentially mean he was nervous to approach—Peppino had the upper hand. He’d even noticed that the harmfulness of Pizzahead’s tricks had notably decreased in the past month or so. Peppino came to the conclusion that Pizzahead was struggling to get by with his tower destroyed, and didn’t have time to plan his evil schemes like he used to.

“Sure, why not.”

Peppino walked over to the door. He turned around and, after Gustavo’s thumbs-up of approval, opened the door. The freezing temperature blasted him in the face and he could feel his mustache accumulating icicles.

“Hey, pagliaccio, I know it’s you! Why don’t you come inside and face me before I get another restraining order?”

The trench-coated figure turned around with wide eyes. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Get in here, and maybe I’ll answer you, damn it!”

Pizzahead yelped and hurried to the door. Before entering, he shook piles of snow from his shoulders and hat, then stepped inside. Peppino could see him shaking. Idiota.

“You’ve already worn this disguise. You’re getting sloppy, Pizzahead.”

“Hey, I. . .” Pizzahead looked around frantically. “Well, I didn’t wear it for you, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Anyone up for some coffee?” Gustavo asked.

Peppino whirled around, mouth agape and ready to decline for the both of them, but Pizzahead answered first.

“Oh, yes, please!”

“Gustavo, what the hell?”

But his friend had already disappeared into the kitchen. Peppino faced his tormentor again, bracing himself for an attack now that they were alone. He relaxed as he took in Pizzahead’s disguised appearance. He must have already been in a scuffle, judging by the way he slouched and how dark, discoloured cheese surrounded his right eye. His obviously fake mustache was lopsided under his giant tomato nose. He looked just about ready to topple over.

“We won’t get anywhere just standing here. Let’s have a seat.”

Peppino went to a booth in the corner of the restaurant and sat down. Pizzahead trailed after him a few seconds later. He removed his hat and his fake mustache, stuffed them inside his coat, and awkwardly collapsed across from him. His ridiculously long legs wouldn’t fit under the table, so he sat with his lower half facing the open area. Peppino didn’t comment on his visible discomfort, and decided to get on with the conversation.

“Why were you standing outside my pizzeria? You really freaked us out. You probably scared off some customers, too.”

Pizzahead leaned on his hand. “You’ve been doing well, lately, haven’t you? I don’t think you need to worry so much.”

He wasn’t wrong. After Peppino escaped the crumbling tower, a whole community of homes, stores and other buildings appeared overnight and provided him with as many customers as the people he’d attacked in the tower. The tower’s residents had nowhere else to go, after all. That was at the beginning of the year, and it was December now—he’d nearly made enough money to free himself from debt forever, but he still had a ways to go.

“I guess so,” he replied finally, “but that doesn’t matter. If you keep showing up like a stalker, I’m prepared to pummel you again.”

Pizzahead laughed, the annoying sound echoing throughout the pizzeria, but he choked and began to cough into his elbow. Alarmed, Peppino sat upright and waited for him to recover before chastising him.

“You better not be sick.”

“No sickness here, chef! Only, uh. . .”

He fell quiet. Peppino opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about, but Gustavo came out, and they remained quiet as four cups of coffee were placed on the table with some fixings and a spoon. Peppino and Pizzahead both eyed the fourth cup curiously, but Peppino saw Brick sauntering over and found his unasked question answered. He slid down the booth to make room for Gustavo. Pizzahead remained oblivious to Brick until his arm was poked by his snout. He looked at the newcomer, startled, but he quickly perked up with delight.

“Oh, hey, it’s you,” he said happily. “I’m glad to see you again, pal. No hard feelings about me throwing you around, right?”

Brick squeaked at him. Gustavo gasped, but Peppino still hadn’t learned the language of rats, so he accepted that he would have to miss out on the secret conversation for now.

Pizzahead made room for Brick by bringing his knees to his chest and scooting further down the booth. He patted beside him until the rat clambered onto the seat, and they all reached for their coffee. Peppino left his black, and blew on it.

“You never answered my first question, you know,” he said to Pizzahead.

“What was it again?”

“I asked why you were standing outside for hours in the snow.”

“You had us worried,” Gustavo added as he poured cream into his cup. He passed it to Brick once he was finished and took a swig.

Pizzahead seemed to remember something, his good eye opening fully, and he rummaged through the pockets of his coat. His hand came back with a paper that Peppino recognized with dread.

Help wanted!

“A little froggy told me that you fellas are hiring.”

Peppino shared a long, intense stare with Gustavo. They nodded to each other and faced Pizzahead.

“No way,” Peppino said.

“We sure are,” Gustavo said at the same time.

They shared another look—bewildered this time.

Pizzahead frowned. “Huh?”

“Excuse us,” Peppino muttered. He ushered Gustavo out of the booth and tugged him back into the kitchen. “What is with you tonight? You remember who he is, right?”

“Well, sure I do, but I can see that something’s eating at him. He wasn’t disguised for us, remember? Someone must be after him.”

“Good. He’s a nuisance.”

“What if they want to kill him?”

Peppino bit his lip. While he hated the clown more than anything, and recalled his own murderous thoughts during their fateful battle, he could already predict the guilt that would consume him if something drastic happened to Pizzahead when he could have prevented it. He did seem on edge, he did have a black eye, and he was coughing despite not being sick. Maybe something really did happen to him.

Peppino suddenly remembered overhearing the Vigilante discussing how his former boss was wanted, and he made his second connection of the night. The tower was gone, with former residents who were angry and betrayed, and their boss nowhere to be seen except for wanted posters around town. Pizzahead only appeared around the pizzeria from time to time, always in a disguise. Nobody would want to help him once they discovered his evil misdeeds, so he was probably left to fend for himself while hiding from the law. If he had no allies, and he was on the run, and his tower had been destroyed. . .

“He’s homeless,” Peppino exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “Aye, mio Dio, that idiot has been living out there with a bounty on his head. No wonder he’s all skittish and weird.”

“He’s got no money, then.” Gustavo stroked his mustache in thought. “Peppino, I really think we should consider hiring him. Why else did we make those posters in the first place?”

Peppino sighed, defeated once again by his strong empathy and his forever optimistic companion. Christmas was coming, after all, and he didn’t want Fake Santa chasing him down for being ‘naughty,’ so a little bit of kindness towards the guy who threatened his livelihood wouldn’t hurt. Maybe working under stressful conditions would humble him, and in turn would eliminate one of Peppino’s triggers for violence. The older he got, the more he longed to settle into a routine of calmness and peace instead of yelling and fighting and getting scared all the time, and hiring Pizzahead could be the first step to achieving that wish.

“You’re probably right.” They took a deep breath and returned to the table, where Brick and Pizzahead were playing a card game that Peppino didn’t recognize. “Who’s winning?” he asked, wanting to get on Pizzahead’s good side for once.

“No clue.” Pizzahead dropped all of his cards and reached for the sugar. “We were playing different games.”

Peppino raised a brow, but the clown focused on pouring sugar into his coffee, and Brick shrugged helplessly. Peppino echoed the gesture and took a sip of his own drink. Remembering his theories, he studied Pizzahead for any further signs of damage. His eyes were sunken in from exhaustion, and smudges of dirt scattered across his face. He shook like a nervous chihuahua, though that could’ve been from the cold, so he filed that one under maybe. Still, he’d seen better days. Peppino frowned, but averted his eyes when Pizzahead looked back at him.

“Why so glum, sugarplum?”

“Uh, nothing.” He glanced at Gustavo, who nodded encouragingly. “I’ve changed my mind. We’ll consider hiring you, but you need to be interviewed first, capisce?”

“Roger that!”

Gustavo nudged Peppino to scoot down more. “Brick, come over here, please. We need a professional interviewing setup, three on one.”

Brick obliged, and soon they all faced Pizzahead. He was still dumping sugar into his coffee.

“First,” Peppino began with the raise of a finger, “remove all items from your person. If you’re going to work here, you can’t be hiding any weapons or. . .whatever it is you have.”

“Fair enough.” Pizzahead set down the empty sugar container and stood from the table. “Just give me two shakes.”

His hand disappeared into his coat and retrieved several items. Out came the hat and mustache for his disguise, dropped to the floor. Then, a magician’s handkerchief, a bouquet of roses, a baseball, a glove to match, and a clown horn joined the floor in a pile. Pizzahead patted himself down with a smile.

“Is that all?”

His smile faltered, and he chuckled awkwardly. “Uh, let’s see. . .oh, right.”

He shimmied off the trench coat and began to dig through his overalls and its numerous pockets. While he did, Peppino noticed that he’d been hiding even more damage. The shoulder of his white dress shirt ripped at the seams, just barely staying together with a few flimsy threads, and his cheesy skin could be seen underneath. His overalls hung from his body by one strap, and were beginning to wear down at the knees. His whole outfit looked filthy with dirt smudges to match his face. As he removed more items, Peppino sensed the jerky movement of someone in pain.

Wanting to avoid the distress that would come if he dwelled on that realization, he focused his attention back to what was being dropped on the floor. The pile of nonsense had gained a familiar uzi, a few sticks of dynamite, a walkie-talkie, an office chair, a PEZ dispenser—labelled PEZZINO—with Peppino’s face on the top, and a vintage floral-patterned lamp. Pizzahead reached deeper, eyes screwed shut in concentration, and pulled out a strip of film from a photo booth featuring him and that pizza lady from the tower, a fake gun with a flag sticking out of it, a pair of boxing gloves, and that damn pinup of Pizzahead wearing the bright blue bikini. Why on earth does he have that? Peppino looked away, flushed.

“Whoopsie-daisy!” Pizzahead cried, stuffing it into the front pocket on his chest. “Ignore that. I think there’s one last thing—ha, jackpot!”

He revealed a large, circular bomb with a burning wick. Everyone gawked at the weapon and they all screamed. Peppino fought the urge to run up the walls and instead channeled his energy to yell, “Put it outside, idiota, quick!”

Pizzahead shrieked and made a mad dash for the door. His gangly legs propelled him at an impressive speed, and suddenly he had disappeared into the night. Peppino panted, trying to calm down, while Gustavo patted Brick’s back comfortingly. They waited at the table in suspense. Ten seconds later, a flash of light came from outside with a BANG! to accompany it.

“That was close,” Gustavo said with a relieved chuckle.

Peppino could only sigh in agreement. The man of the hour trudged back into the restaurant, charred but shivering, with an icicle hanging from his nose. He shook off the remains of the bomb.

“I f-f-forgot how c-cold it is, ha.”

Peppino glanced at the emptied container of sugar and muttered, “Your coffee should help with that.”

“Yay!” Pizzahead flopped into the booth, adjusted himself into a cross legged position, and chugged his coffee. It was then that Peppino worried about the energy that the caffeine would give him, but Pizzahead finished his drink and asked, “Sooo, what’s my first question, boss?”

“Oh.” Peppino tapped his chin. “I guess I didn’t think that far ahead.”

He turned to Gustavo to ask for his input, but Gustavo pointed at Pizzahead with bulging eyes. “Why do you have a hole in your stomach?”

Peppino looked back to Pizzahead and shrieked. Without his coat, a perfectly round hole could be seen in his body, right below the big pocket. The red leather of the booth was visible through the other side. A mixture of what looked like tomato sauce and cheese surrounded the hole, melting.

“Oh, yeah.” Pizzahead looked at the injury with a wobbly smile. “I forgot about that.”

“You forgot? Mamma mia, Pizzahead, you’ve got a gaping hole in your body! How do you forget about that?” Peppino gripped his hair in anguish. “You’re not dying, are you?”

“What? No.” Pizzahead giggled, but it devolved into another coughing fit. “I’m just—ack! It just needs some ice.”

He continued his hacking, and Peppino wailed in utter defeat. How did one fix a tunnel in some pizza guy’s body? He clambered on top of the booth to leap over Gustavo and Brick and ran into the kitchen yet again. He circled around the area and on his way out snatched the bag of flour that he kept on the counter. He burst back into the dining room and shoved the bag into Pizzahead’s hands.

“Does this help?” he screamed, louder than necessary.

Pizzahead covered his not-ears but said, “Yes, actually.”

He stuck his hands into the flour and pulled out a handful of it. With his tongue sticking out innocently, as if he were playing with clay and not his own body, he used the flour to shape the cheese/skin/dough back into place and finished with a happy noise and his hands on his hips. Peppino collapsed onto the floor as he clutched his chest.

“Thanks for the medicine, doc. Now we can do the interview, yeah?”

Peppino shut his eyes. He heard Gustavo answer for him, “Actually, I think we’ll skip it. Just fill out that sheet and we’ll go from there.”

“Already done.” He heard paper wobbling, and then footsteps. “I’d better head out for the night. If you do end up hiring me, call me, I guess.”

Gustavo hummed. “Hey, even if it doesn’t work out, we’d love for you to come to our Secret Santa party!”

Peppino’s eyes snapped open. “Gustavo, please.”

“What?” Gustavo shook his head down at him. “C’mon, it’s Christmas.”

Pizzahead glanced between the two while he fidgeted with his coat. He looked hopeful. How dare he look hopeful after what he—Peppino sighed through his nose and said, “Fine.”

“Thanks!” Pizzahead put on his coat, hat, and mustache and went to the door. “Give me the details once they’re figured out, okay? You know where to find me!”

Peppino finally came to and sat up. “No, we really don’t.”

Unfortunately, Pizzahead had already left.

Peppino let Gustavo hoist him up, and they went through the motions of closing up for the night. They cleaned the kitchen, swept the floors and wiped down all of the tables. While Peppino cleaned their unofficial interviewing table, he spotted a splotch of tomato sauce, cheese and flour where Pizzahead had stationed himself. He shuddered as he cleaned it and pictured the hole in his enemy’s body with horror. Once they finished and all the lights were out, he joined Gustavo outside with his jacket and mittens keeping him warm. As he fumbled with the keys in a poor attempt to lock up, the hole came to his mind again, and his heart plummeted with yet another cause for anxiety. He turned to Gustavo with a tremble.

“Santa merda, who the hell did that to him?”

Chapter Text

Peppino never did find out who put a hole in Pizzahead’s torso.

He realized this while he looked at the hole in his bright green Christmas sweater. He finished wiping off the counter, and shared his realization with Gustavo. His fellow sweater-clad friend, who carried a stack of stools out from the back, hummed thoughtfully and set them down.

“You’re right,” he said. “Well, he’ll be here soon, so we can ask him then.”

“Yeah.”

Peppino helped him place the stools in a row before the counter. They had decided it would be easier for everyone to sit there rather than at the tables. It would also make the seating more comfortable for Pizzahead and Pepperman, who struggled to fit into the booths as a result of their large size. Peppino thought of the clone, who was also rather large, but he wouldn’t be attending their get-together. As he thought of this, he backed up into something squishy and looked up, right into the eyes of his doppelgänger.

“EEYOW!!!” Peppino leapt into the air and backed away from the clone, pointing at it accusingly. “You—You—You can’t be here! G-G-Gustavo, that’s him, that’s—”

“Easy, Peppino, it’s okay.” Gustavo stood between them, defensive arms prepared. “I invited him to come!”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

The clone smiled at him. The stretched skin looked as unappealing as ever. Somehow, though, it didn’t seem malicious. With a sigh, Peppino nodded.

“Okay, fine. Did you bring a gift?”

The clone nodded. “Giftings for the seasonings!”

Peppino shuddered. “Go. . .put it under there.”

He pointed to the tall, scraggly Christmas tree in the corner of the restaurant. The clone smiled wider and wobbled towards it with a terribly wrapped box in its left hand. While it moved, the clothes on its skin transformed to match Peppino’s festive outfit.

Unnerving, but harmless.

The tree shook when the clone accidentally nudged it, but it held up. Peppino didn’t have many ornaments to hang from it, and couldn’t reach high enough anyway, so he left it bare in some spots. Pizzahead’s towering height had been requested to place a paper star on top, with the promise to hangout used as an incentive. It had never happened.

The clone finished its task and settled onto a stool. Peppino eyed Gustavo, who shrugged, and they sat on either side of it. Outside, a crowd emerged from a parked car that had somehow arrived silently. Peppino listed off everybody from the tower: Pepperman, the Vigilante, Gerome, the Noise, Noisette and Mr. Stick. group stopped outside the door to knock, but the Noise looked in and made eye contact with Peppino, and instead barged in.

“We’re here, loser!”

“Hi, Peppino!”

“Where’s Brick?”

“Are we late?”

Everyone funneled in and bombarded Peppino with greetings, and he tried to acknowledge everybody at once, but ended up awkwardly ignoring them all instead. He shook a lot of hands and told everyone to put their gifts under the tree, until finally they settled down. When everyone was seated at the counter, he went behind the counter to address them.

“Thanks for coming, everyone. I’m glad we could do this, even if it’s a little late for Christmas.”

Everyone looked to Mr. Stick, who was dressed in a tree-patterned orange vest. He scowled at the accusing stares. “What? It’s not my fault my flight kept getting delayed. Can’t a guy visit his friend?”

“Don’t worry about it, Scott,” Gustavo said, still sat next to the clone. “We understand. It’s nice you got to visit Burton after so long.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Peppino, this is just great,” Noisette said happily as she clutched her boyfriend’s arm. “It’s so nice to have everyone together again, especially outside of the tower.”

They all quieted into awkward murmurs and coughs. Gerome appeared as if he wanted to leave. Pepperman just smiled at the clone. Peppino remembered hearing heartfelt apologies and even offers of compensation for what he’d endured, and ever since then, the tower had become a hushed topic to discuss. Peppino may have forgiven Pizzahead, but he wouldn’t forget, and he still hated the damn clown.

The Vigilante broke the tension with a clear of the throat. “Well, that’s all over now, right? We should be glad to celebrate without him around to ruin it.”

“Who?” Pepperman asked.

“You don’t—our boss, Phil.”

Pepperman smiled wider.

The Vigilante opened his mouth, but the clone shouted before him, “Pizzahead!”

Everyone whipped around at the sound of the door opening. Pizzahead ducked under the doorframe, then came inside at his full height with the jolliest smile Peppino had ever seen. He’d forgone his usual attire for a fuzzy red cardigan over a pine green turtleneck, and purple pants that seemed to have faded over time. His usual shoes had been replaced with a black variation that paired with green socks to match his sweater. Something about the get-up was familiar.

“Sorry I’m late, fellas!” He strode to the counter and paused with his hands in his pockets. “Did I miss the charcuterie board?”

Peppino nodded in greeting, but he took notice of the others’ reactions. Noisette, Theodore and Gustavo grinned and waved, Scott looked like he didn’t care, and Gerome mostly seemed bemused. Pepperman greeted him by name. The clone. . .smiled like always. Vigert, however, looked very seriously pissed.

“Why is he here?”

The group quieted and looked between Peppino, Vigert and Pizzahead with wide eyes. Pizzahead’s grin was unwavering. Vigert rose in his stool and materialized his gloved hands to point at him.

“Peppino, why is he here? You know what he’s done.” The cheeseslime began to shake with rage. “I put a bullet through him for a reason, damn it!”

Peppino shrieked. “You did that to him? I had to fix him up with flour, for crying out loud!”

“Technically, I did it myself,” Pizzahead chirped.

“SHUT UP!” Peppino and Vigert screamed simultaneously.

Gustavo sat up straighter. “Why don’t we all just calm down, okay?”

Vigert, shaking and huffing, stared Pizzahead down with vicious eyes. The tension was palpable. Peppino felt driven to protect Pizzahead, but he also hated him, so he remained behind the counter. Vigert finally broke eye contact with the clown to stare accusingly at Peppino.

“I’ll ask you again, partner. Why is he here?”

Peppino finally came to his senses. “Well, I-I did warn you beforehand that he would be, uh. . .”

He shrugged uselessly. Vigert screwed his eyes shut, thinking long and hard about something, and there was silence for a few tense seconds. Pizzahead started sneaking off but Vigert came to and grabbed his leg with a glove. It sent him toppling face-first to the floor. Peppino snorted, and immediately after everybody else laughed, as Pizzahead was dragged behind the counter and into the kitchen. It seemed another private kitchen conversation would take place.

“Maybe we should invest in an office,” Peppino said, nudging Gustavo.

Gustavo, still recovering from his boisterous laughter, said, “I think—ho-ho, I think the kitchen works great. Hear that?”

They hushed and listened. From inside the kitchen, cartoony sounds of hellfire and pain were heard, as well as some concerning splatters. One agonized scream later, Vigert emerged with a smug aura that admittedly suited him very well. Nobody bothered to ask what happened, because Pizzahead came out not long after with his head smashed through a pizza box.

“Good news, folks, we’ve sorted it out! I’m out for delivery starting now.”

Theodore pointed at him and laughed obnoxiously, but he simply shrugged and daintily sat down on the one remaining stool, where Peppino had been earlier. With everyone seated, Peppino clapped his hands together for attention once more.

“No more fighting in my pizzeria, got it?”

“Yes, Peppino,” everyone chorused.

“Now, I think it’s time for us to reveal who we got a gift for.”

They all cheered in agreement and began to yell over one another. Before Peppino could even give the order, his looney bin of friends clambered over one another to get to the tree first. The only one who seemed to not care was Gerome, who gave Peppino his typical Gerome stare while he waited outside of the violent crowd of people. Under a pile of fighting limbs, screeches of pain and a cloud of dust, Vigert emerged victorious with his Christmas offering raised into the air.

“Ha! Y’all need to learn how to speed things up. I’ll go first.”

“Nice job, Vigi,” Noisette cheered, before biting onto Theodore’s leg.

“Ow, watch it, dear!”

“Here you are, Stick.” Vigert held up the wrapped box to Scott, who untangled himself from Pizzahead’s lanky arms to take the gift. “It ain’t much, but I figured it would suit you just fine.”

Everyone stopped their fighting to watch intently as Scott unwrapped the box. Pizzahead caught the floating paper and stuffed it into his pockets. The box was opened, and Scott squealed excitedly and lifted some sort of metallic doohickey from inside.

“I can’t believe this—it’s the GPS-ghost-inator for my apartment! You know me so well, Vigert.”

“Knew you’d love it. Now you can tell your apartment ghosts to leave you alone.”

“You bet!” Scott put his goober-nator(Peppino had forgotten what it was called immediately) back into its box, then approached Pepperman with his own wrapped cylinder. “This one’s homemade, Pepperboy.”

“How thoughtful, a Mr. Stick Original.” Pepperman grinned and tore the gift open, as Pizzahead continued to catch the paper. The gift was a paintbrush that seemed to be mechanized, with the ability to spin by itself. “Oh, please explain this elusive creation.”

“It’s a paintbrush that can paint perfect circles and it can fly.”

Everyone oohed and ahed with curiosity.

“You’d better show me that thing in action, Phil,” Theodore demanded from underneath Noisette’s face-hugging position. He staggered back into the tree and it nearly fell, but Pizzahead steadied it.

“I certainly will. Thank you, Stick.” Pepperman placed his gift on the counter, then went to Gustavo. “You’ll find this cheesy, but I’m certain you will enjoy it.”

Gustavo was handed a large, flat rectangle covered in tinfoil. Everyone bared their teeth in discomfort as it was torn open with it’s terrible tinfoil sounds—except a smiling Pizzahead, who seemed compelled to act as the Christmas garbage collector. The rectangle was revealed to be a beautiful portrait of Gustavo and Brick, posed together like one of those strange family photos with a transparent, larger version overtop. He’d even painted that part, too. Peppino hummed with approval.

“Wow, this is amazing.” Gustavo ran his hands over it lightly. “I’ll put it right on my wall, friend.”

“I’m glad you like it!”

“And now, it’s my turn.” Gustavo waddled back to the tree, apparently having lost the race to it beforehand, and returned with a box that looked rather heavy. He carefully set it before Theodore and Noisette, who dropped from her boyfriend’s face to crouch in front of the box. “This is for Noisette! I hope you like it.”

“Oh, yay!” She giggled and ripped the paper off in one go, handing it to Pizzahead, and gasped excitedly. “New pots and pans! Look, Noisey, they’re so shiny and high-quality!”

“Yes, dear.”

“I can’t wait to use these. Thank you, Gus.”

“Anytime.”

Noisette suddenly frowned and looked around. “Oh, no.”

“What‘s wrong?” Vigert asked.

“My secret Santa was for Brick, but he’s not here.”

Gustavo touched her shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’s just visiting family right now. I can give it to him tomorrow, if you’d like?”

“Oh, no worries. Maybe I can just catch him next week and give it to him myself.”

“Sounds good to me! He gave me his secret Santa gift, so I can at least keep this party going.”

From there, the gift opening went fast. Brick’s gift was for the clone, who received a block of cheese. The clone then gave its poorly wrapped item to Theodore, and it turned out to be a jar of grandma candies and chocolates. Theodore’s gift for Gerome was a Noise TV branded cap that earned him a swat from Noisette. All the while, Pizzahead dashed from one person to the next to collect the wrapping paper. To Peppino’s surprise, Gerome approached him with a wide but flat box.

“I know you’ll like this, Peppino.” He smiled softly. “You’ve earned it.”

Peppino shriveled a little under everyone’s gaze, but he pushed through it to just get the opening over with. He watched Pizzahead to see if he would get the paper, but the clown remained where he was, until he tried to drop it. A tap on his shoulder made him yelp and turn around to see Pizzahead towering over him. He whipped back to look where he’d been before; nobody was there.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped even as he placed the garbage in his hand.

“Sorry, shnookums.”

Peppino rolled his eyes and continued to open his gift. The box came from a clothing store, likely repurposed for whatever was inside. He lifted the top and nearly dropped it as his lip wobbled.

“Gerome. . .”

“What is it?”

“Let us see, dummy!”

“Peppino’s gifting for everyone is a joy.”

“Quiet, Fakey.”

Peppino lifted the shiny white apron for everyone to see. He sniffled a little bit and wiped his eyes. Gustavo came up beside him to put an arm around him comfortingly.

“That’s it?” Theodore asked, crossing his arms. “I thought you already had one of those.”

Noisette swatted him again, playfully.

“Whatever.” Peppino sighed. “Gerome, I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me. Thank you.”

He knelt down to hug his friend and everybody either cooed or giggled. Peppino didn’t care. He stood back up and folded the apron back into the box and put it on the counter. He smiled happily at the sight of his friends ogling their presents and showing them off to each other. He made eye contact with Pizzahead, who had returned to his original spot at some point, and beckoned him over with a finger. With his arms behind his back, Pizzahead sidestepped Pepperman and walked over quickly, then bent down so he could meet his eyes.

“I’m your secret Santa.” Pizzahead covered his mouth in mock-surprise, earning a chuckle from Peppino. “I’ll give you your gift once everyone leaves, okay?”

Pizzahead’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, okay.”

He cackled abruptly and hopped onto the closest stool, causing it to spin around. Peppino suppressed a snort. He looked like a clown in his true element, until the clone stepped over and climbed onto his lap like a horrible, oversized, fleshy cat. Everyone else seemed to be calming down too, joining Pizzahead and Peppino at the counter once again. The exception was Theodore, who smoked a cigarette outside.

“I wish he’d quit already,” Noisette muttered.

Vigert snorted in agreement. “Smoking’s gonna catch up to him one day.”

Noisette smiled at him, then touched Pizzahead’s arm. “At least that pipe you smoke is classy, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t even smoke the normal stuff, my dear.” He reached underneath the clone to get his pipe from his pocket. “The only things that go in here are the spices and herbs you’d see on the highest of quality pizzas. Oh, and bubbles.”

He blew into the pipe for emphasis, causing a few colourful bubbles to float into the air. The clone reached for them lazily.

Scott shook his head on the other side of Pizzahead. “You look like a damn clown.”

Pizzahead and Scott made very long, silent eye contact. Peppino coughed, and everyone seemed to get the hint.

“I’d better go for the night,” Pepperman sighed.

He ambled towards the door as everyone said their goodbyes. After him, it seemed everybody else wanted to leave too. There went Scott, Gerome, the clone, and even Gustavo, who gave a heartfelt goodbye. The final person to leave was Vigert, but he got stopped by Pizzahead.

“Hey, Vigi, wait!”

“Don’t call me that.” Vigert snatched his hand away. “What do you want now?”

Pizzahead dropped a wrapped square present into his hands. “I forgot to give you this, because someone needed my gift to be all secretive.”

Peppino whistled and looked away. Vigert eyed his gift suspiciously, but kept it in his hands as he slid to the door to follow the others. Pizzahead waved at him until he was out of view.

“You really shouldn’t aggravate him like that. What if he shoots you again?”

“I know you’ll be there to save me,” Pizzahead said as he draped a hand over his forehead.

“Aw,” Noisette cooed.

Peppino couldn’t even ask what she was going aw about, because Theodore came back in.

“Those assholes better not leave without us! Are you ready to go, toots?”

“Almost.” Noisette gathered her and Theodore’s presents close. “Oh, Pizzahead, could you give me back the wrapping paper for this? I didn’t rip it anywhere and I’d like to keep it for next year.”

“Sure thing!”

He lifted an entire trash bag from his pocket and rummaged through it for a few moments. He placed the somehow pristine wrapping paper in her hands, then stood.

“I’d better throw the rest of this out.”

Peppino stood up too. “I can do it.”

He took the bag from Pizzahead’s hand. Before he could make it to the door, however, Pizzahead called out for him to stop. He turned to ask why, but was promptly shoved out of the way while Pizzahead ran outside. He stood with his arms poised to attack and his breathing rugged and quick; Peppino could see his chest expanding like a balloon.

“What’s your deal, huh?” Peppino held the door open by leaning on it. “Did you change your mind about some dangerous prank?”

“No, I’m just trying to—he put an anvil above the door!”

“Who?”

Pizzahead turned around and aggressively pointed at Theodore, who had remained seated at the counter. Peppino made eye contact with his sworn rival, and Theodore began to cackle until Noisette gasped and lightly smacked his arm.

“Theo, you promised,” she pouted, crossing her arms.

“Don’t worry, dear, I didn’t put no anvil there.”

“Huh?” Pizzahead’s arms finally fell limp, and he looked up. “Oh.”

The pepperoni cheeks on his face somehow expanded as he stared up with wide eyes. Peppino moved to look for himself, but Pizzahead waved his hands frantically.

“No, no, no, j-just stay there, alright? ‘Ya won’t like it!”

“Why? What is it?”

“Nothing, I. . .” He glared at Theodore mockingly and waggled his finger in disapproval. “Oh, I’ll get you for this one, bub.”

“More like you’ll owe me for it,” Theodore teased.

Pizzahead scoffed like he was mad, but his cheeks managed to grow even further. Peppino had enough and stepped outside. He looked up and could almost feel his mustache shriveling, but it wasn’t from the cold. Above them hung mistletoe, which spun slowly in the chilly wind and doomed them to follow a dumb tradition for the Noise’s sick enjoyment. Pizzahead seemed to sense his annoyance, and interestingly, his flustered expression melted into something akin to disappointment. Peppino looked back inside the restaurant to glare at the cause of their misery.

“Very mature, Theodore.”

“You have to do it, dumbass!” Theodore laughed aggressively. “It’s tradition.”

Peppino tried his best pleading stare, but Theodore only laughed harder and louder until he fell off of his seat. Peppino rolled his eyes and stepped closer to Pizzahead, allowing the door to shut.

“Neither of us wants this, right?”

“You’re one-hundred percent correct.”

“Let’s just. . .I don’t know, touch noses and pretend it’s a kiss. Just to shut him up.”

Pizzahead’s eyes widened. “Wow! You’d lie to your friends? You scoundrel.”

“Shut up! Do you have a better idea?”

“No, not really.”

They stared at each other silently. Peppino watched a snowflake land on Pizzahead’s nose and then melt, leaving a tiny dot of water. He had the urge to wipe it off. Before he could act on it, Pizzahead moved in and gripped his face with both hands.

“Okay, here goes nothing!”

“What?”

Pizzahead crouched down and pulled Peppino’s face to his so their noses collided, producing a satisfying honk that sounded louder than it usually did whenever Peppino would jab a finger into the clown’s nose. Pizzahead even tilted his head side to side with his eyes shut for an accurate recreation of American film’s ‘passionate’ kissing scenes. Peppino couldn’t reciprocate or do anything else fast enough, because Pizzahead released him with a spin and cackled maniacally.

“What a rush, am I right? That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced for sure.” Pizzahead planted a hand on Peppino’s head to stop him from spinning. “Same time next year, chef?”

“Never again, I’d hope.” Peppino wiped his mouth even though they hadn’t even kissed. “How about we just go back inside before we freeze to death, alright?”

“Sounds good to me.”

The restaurant greeted them with a wonderful sight. Theodore, still on the floor, half-heartedly sheltered himself from the disturbingly angry aura of Noisette. She was searching through her purse, removing several items that shouldn’t have been able to fit, but she looked unsuccessful. She looked up upon the return of Theodore’s victims.

“Hey, Pizzaboy, I can’t find my mallet. Could I borrow yours, please and thanks?”

“Of course, doll, you don’t even have to ask!” Pizzahead left Peppino’s side and moseyed up to the counter, stepping over Theordore’s laughing, ridiculed body. He stuck a hand behind his back and retrieved an oversized wooden mallet from seemingly nowhere. Hammerspace, Peppino recalled Pizzahead calling it. The clown offered his mallet to Noisette with both hands, as if it were a sword. “Will this do?”

“Sure will.”

Noisette took the mallet and raised it, then delivered a fatal blow to the Noise’s head. There was a squeak upon contact, and afterwards, his head appeared squished but not injured. Peppino happily ignored the weird implications of their existence, not for the first time, and decided that hating on the Noise would be a great way to end the night.

“Serves you right, you fool.” He joined Pizzahead and Noisette at the counter and hopped onto a stool. “Both of you can go home now.”

He held out his hand, and Pizzahead passed him a spray bottle. He spritzed Theodore once, and it was enough to send him and his girlfriend scampering out of the restaurant, giggling like stupid teenagers.

That left Peppino alone with his worst tormentor of all.

“Pizzahead.”

His gangly companion smiled at him. “Yes?”

“I can give you your gift now.”

Pizzahead’s pepperoni cheeks expanded again. Peppino had no clue what it meant, but he figured his peace of mind was more possible if he ignored it. He went to the tree and came back with the final present underneath; a very heavy circular object wrapped in green with a pizza slice pattern. Pizzahead clapped and bounced on his heels while his gift was placed in his arms. The weight made him stagger backwards onto a stool, and he squeaked in pain at the contact of it on his lap. Peppino winced.

“Thanks a lot,” Pizzahead squealed with a thumbs up.

“I probably should’ve wanted you about that, but—oh, just open it, you’ll see.”

Pizzahead looked surprisingly unsure as he tore the paper. When the gift inside was only slightly visible, he gasped, and tore it free entirely to lift it up with a newfound strength that likely came from the same place his giant mallets did. He turned the giant cog around in his hands and studied it like a baby would with a rattle.

“Peppino, I. . .”

“I found it when I went back to the remains of the tower during Halloween. It was the only thing left from Pizzaface that I could find, so. . .”

Pizzahead sniffed. Peppino was washed over with a sinking, cold feeling.

“Oh, no, don’t cry! Was it a bad idea?”

“It was a great idea.” Pizzahead gingerly set it back down on his lap. “I just miss that guy so much.”

“Yeah, sorry I destroyed him.”

“It’s okay. I was kind of being stupid.” He grinned down at the cog. “Hey, you know I wasn’t homeless, right?”

Peppino stuttered out some confused sounds, both from the changed subject and the shock. “You weren’t?”

“No, I’ve got a place, silly. The only reason I’m working here is to make money for. . .”

He quieted, looking confused himself, and Peppino leaned in with interest.

“For self improvement?”

“What? No.” Pizzahead giggled. “For my evil deeds, of course!”

He sprung from his seat and stashed the cog into his pocket before sprinting to the door.

“Hey, wait, no!”

He skidded to a halt. “Yes?”

Peppino caught up to him, huffing. “You’re not serious, right? Please don’t be. I can’t take it.”

“I’ll let you decide.” Pizzahead spun on his heels like a ballerina. “I have to go now, sweetheart.”

Peppino sighed miserably. He’d assumed that Pizzahead’s laborious job as his employee would humble him, but apparently that had been asking too much of a living cartoon pizza clown. His heart sinking, he shook his head and met Pizzahead’s eyes.

“Okay, fine, just promise me you won’t make another tower.”

Pizzahead’s tapped his chin thoughtfully as he spun. Peppino goraned and turned around to walk away, but Pizzahead cried his name.

“Okay, okay, I promise, but I’m being very serious, pal. I really do have to be somewhere.”

“Oh, fine. I’m gonna turn around now, okay? You better not pull that damn Batman stunt on me!”

“I won’t!”

Peppino closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned around. Pizzahead was gone, and the door, which had silently opened somehow, swung shut with the bell’s signature ring. Peppino let out a cry of frustration and pulled at his hair as he moved to the door.

“Cazzo! That—ugh, figlio di puttana, I’m going to kill him.” Peppino growled and turned away from the door. “I swear, he’s—huh?”

His gaze landed on the floor, where a white envelope with a gift label still fluttered from the wind outside. He knelt beside it and picked it up. It wasn’t sealed properly, and the flap opened slightly, revealing cash inside. One of the bills bent at the corner the same way Peppino bent money when he was stressed and fidgety.

“This is his paycheck,” he muttered to himself.

Intrigued, he searched for the label and found it on the front of the envelope. It was bordered with Christmas lights and he also noticed scattered smiley stickers surrounding it as well. He rolled his eyes and squinted so he could attempt to read Pizzahead’s weird handwriting without his glasses. The card was addressed to Pizzahead’s grandmother. Beneath it was his own name, punctuated with a little heart. Peppino’s own heart swelled as he came to the realization that Pizzahead lied to him. His money would go to that elderly pizza woman from the tower, and not the destruction of the world or anything slightly less important than the world.

Relieved, Peppino clutched the envelope to his chest and went to his phone. He dialed up a number and the phone rang thrice before it answered to background noise containing slippery sounds, squeals, honks and other wacky stuff.

“Hellooo, who is it?”

“Pizzahead, you left something at the restaurant. I think it’s—”

The phone hung up. Peppino shook his head and waited, but a tap on his shoulder made him jump with a shriek. Pizzahead was there, waiting with his hand out expectantly. Snow covered him in comically tall piles. He’d evidently changed out of his Christmas clothes, and instead donned the classic blue overalls and white shirt.

“Don’t do that!”

Pizzahead smiled, but it held less viciousness than usual. “Can I have that envelope, p-please?”

“Yeah.” Pizzahead snatched it from him like a hungry animal. “You could’ve just told me that you were doing it for your—“

“Shut up! Quiet. No.” Pizzahead glanced around. “It’s between us, pal, okay?”

Peppino shrugged. “Okay.”

“No, for once, I’m serious. It’s—she’s got some health issues, and I can’t risk anybody going after her because of their personal issues with me, ‘ya get it?”

“Oh.” He touched Pizzahead’s shoulder sympathetically. “I won’t tell anyone, but you can always bring her here for dinner, if you’d like. I think we got along well enough in the tower.”

Pizzahead squirmed from the touch but said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, chum!”

He blinked, and that clown bastard was gone again. In his place rested a gift box addressed to Peppino. He put aside any fears, foolishly trusting Pizzahead now that he knew his real intentions, and lifted the present to his face. He opened it, sighed, and placed it back on the floor. Why me? he thought bitterly. The wick of the bomb continued to burn, not caring to hear his unspoken woes.

At least the explosion matched the Christmas lights outside.