A day late, but this is for the Day 10 "breakdown" prompt of Comfortember (from Tumblr) Another pre-series Golden Wind fic.
Midnight Memories
A JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Fanfic
(For Comfortember Day 10 "Breakdown") Bucciarati is away for a few days and Fugo's nightmares come to haunt him. Luckily, Abbacchio might be more qualified to help than even he realizes.
The apartment was quiet with Bucciarati gone.
Not that the other man was loud or anything, but when he was there they were usually discussing some kind of business or just talking amongst each other about things. Fugo hadn't gotten to the point where he had opened up to talking to just Abbacchio, and to be frank, the older man wasn't sure the kid liked him all that much—not that he really blamed him. After all, he'd been a pitiful drunk when Bucciarati had first dragged him in here, and had had more than one fit of rage during his process of getting clean. Dinner that night had been no more than a few pleasantries between them, with Fugo reading a book. Abbacchio certainly didn't hold it against him. It was the nighttime where it got hard for him to be left with his own thoughts.
Abbacchio had admittedly gotten used to having other people around. In fact, it had really helped him get through the worst of his now (mostly) sober state. The fact that Bucciarati had trusted him not to sneak a drink while he was gone was maybe a little too telling of how much faith the man seemed to put in Abbacchio. The nights were long and rough for him still and he had yet to find something to replace the numbness of alcohol to help him sleep. He was working on chamomile tea, but it didn't exactly have the same effect and didn't keep the nightmares away.
So, yeah, that was why he was currently up at 2am, watching crappy television on the tiny TV, one leg bobbing up and down repetitively. Maybe another cup of tea would help knock him out.
He sighed heavily as he pushed himself up to head toward the kitchen.
He was halfway through filling the kettle when he heard a heavy thump coming from further in the apartment. He glanced toward the bedrooms with a frown, wondering what the hell Fugo might be doing this time of night. Had he fallen out of bed?
Abbacchio was going to ignore it until he heard another thump and a crash and his danger instincts ramped up, causing his Stand to ripple under his skin.
He grabbed the first thing he could find—a kitchen knife—and hurried toward Fugo's room, hoping something wasn't really wrong.
He could hear muffled sounds from the other side of the door as he grabbed the knob and twisted it, stepping cautiously inside.
"Fugo?" he called softly when he didn't initially see anyone.
There was the sound of shuffling and Abbacchio looked around, seeing a shadowy lump in the corner.
"Fugo?"
"Get away! You touch me again, I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
Abbacchio quickly stowed the knife, not wanting to scare the kid more if there wasn't actually an enemy in here. It looked like he was just having another nightmare. Abbacchio knew he had them frequently and when Bucciarati had given him a brief rundown of what had happened to Fugo before he came here, then he could understand why. Still, it was usually Bucciarati who helped Fugo through them. Abbacchio didn't exactly feel qualified for that, especially since he still had nightmares himself.
But still, he couldn't exactly leave the kid here like this. Fugo looked terrified, pressing himself further into the corner, hands balled into fists in his pajama shirt.
Abbacchio bit his lip, then took a careful step inside, reaching to turn on a lamp, hoping that a little light might work to break through Fugo's hallucinations.
The only thing it seemed to do was illuminate his wide eyes and clenched teeth. Abbacchio could also see a puddle of water and broken glass on the floor—likely the crash he had heard, Fugo's water glass falling off the bedside table.
"Leave me alone," Fugo whimpered, then fiercer, "Leave me alone!"
Abbacchio held his hands up, staying on the other side of the room. "Fugo, it's just me. Um, Abbacchio," he said, sure that this was no comfort to the kid. Bucciarati seemed to be able to snap him out of these spells pretty quickly, but then, Bucciarati had the kind of firm, commanding tone that was easy to listen to and follow. Abbacchio wasn't that assertive anymore, especially when it came to helping other people.
What the hell do I do then? He wondered, just staring at the kid who was looking more and more panicked by the minute, digging fingers into his chest and shoulders, threatening to rip through the fabric of his pajama top. Abbacchio winced as he saw smears of blood left on the fabric. It looked like Fugo had cut his hands on some of the glass.
He was also breathing quickly—too quickly, Abbacchio realized suddenly. Fugo seemed to be approaching a full-on panic attack and was threatening to hyperventilate.
"Shit," Abbacchio hissed. He had to do something about this.
He cautiously took a step forward and crouched, getting closer to Fugo, but making sure he was still far enough away to keep him comfortable.
At the moment, though, it seemed the boy wasn't even looking at him anymore, just staring off at the wall, terrified, as if something else was there.
"I said stay back," he panted, the panic rising in his face. "Don't touch me!"
"I'm not gonna touch you, I'm just gonna sit right here," Abbacchio said quickly, just in case Fugo was actually referring to him. He cleared the area of glass with his foot and settled cross-legged on the floor about three feet away from Fugo. "Listen, Fugo, you need to breathe. Hear me?"
Abbacchio wasn't a stranger to these kind of panicking night terrors. Only difference was he'd had to teach himself to breathe through them. Waking up screaming as he was forced to watch his partner die again and again, tearing out his hair, chest so tight he couldn't breathe, unable to see anything in front of him but blood. It took a lot to consciously pull himself out of that pit, but he'd taught himself to start counting when the panic hit and to breathe for each count of ten. And it helped.
Fugo didn't seem to be listening to him, though, and his breaths just came quicker and quicker until Abbacchio feared he might just pass out.
"Fugo, hey…" he tried again then, "Pannacotta."
That actually got the boy to turn toward him. Abbacchio had heard Bucciarati use Fugo's given name on occasions when he was going through shit, and it seemed to ground him more easily. Good. That seemed to dictate that Abbacchio was at least not a threat.
"Pannacotta," he said again. "I need you to breathe, okay? You're having a nightmare and you just need to breathe through it. Can you do that?"
Fugo stared at the floor between them, still panting, twitching slightly.
"I need you to breathe in while I count to ten, okay?" Abbacchio tried.
Fugo's breath hitched and he finally turned to meet Abbacchio's eyes, fingers loosening in his clothes slightly as recognition set in. Abbacchio nodded, trying to encourage him and placed a hand on his own chest. "Breathe in while I count to ten," he said again. "One…two…"
Fugo, amazingly, seemed to have heard him and took a shuddering inhalation, chest spasming as he tried to breathe deeply. It didn't exactly work but he was at least paying attention.
"Let's try again," Abbacchio said quietly. "Breathe in…one…two…three…"
This time Fugo was able to get a deeper inhale and though the exhale was jerky, he started the next deep breath before Abbacchio started counting.
Abbacchio continued counting long after Fugo's breathing evened out and he simply slumped in the corner, staring down at his hands as he continued to breathe.
When he finally looked up, the gaze was slightly wary but aware of his surroundings again.
"Hey," Abbacchio called, forcing a brief smile. "You with me?"
Fugo shifted slightly and looked down at his hands again with a wince. "Yeah," he said, voice small.
Abbacchio felt relief at that, and nodded to his hands. "Can I help you get those cleaned up?"
Fugo returned his gaze to Abbacchio. "Okay," he said with some hesitation.
Abbacchio nodded and slowly climbed to his feet, still feeling like he could startle Fugo any minute. "Alright, let's go to the kitchen where there's more light. Careful getting up, there's glass everywhere."
Fugo nodded and got to his feet a little awkwardly, tiptoeing through the glass to get to the door, holding his hands curled against his chest.
Abbacchio stopped by the bathroom for their small first aid kit and followed to the kitchen where Fugo was sitting slumped at the table.
He didn't meet Abbacchio's eyes as the older man set the kit down and washed his hands well before he took a seat himself.
"Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to Fugo's hands.
The teen hesitantly opened his hands and held them out. Abbacchio bent over them, seeing that there were a couple bits of glass stuck in his palms.
"I'll have to get the glass out first," he said, rummaging for a pair of tweezers before he held out one hand. He knew Fugo didn't like to be touched, so he would give him the first move.
Fugo stared at Abbacchio's hand for a long second before he offered his own to rest in Abbacchio's larger palm. Abbacchio pinned his fingers as carefully as he could with his thumb and maneuvered his hand so that he could better get to the glass.
Fugo winced. "I'm sorry for that," he said, then clenched his jaw. "I hate…I hate it when I get like that."
Abbacchio grabbed one piece of glass and let it fall onto the table. "You don't have to apologize, you can't exactly help it."
"Yeah, well, you probably didn't want to be part of my issues, so…"
Abbacchio looked up at him. "That's not true. I know I'm not Bucciarati, but we're all a team here. And you're just a kid. Your wellbeing is my priority."
Fugo looked away, cringing again as Abbacchio fished the last piece of glass out. "How did you know what to do, anyway?"
Abbacchio motioned for his other hand and repeated the process. "How? Because I get it. I've had nightmares that screwed me up so bad I couldn't breathe, didn't know where I was. I had to learn how to breathe through the panic myself. It's the least I can do to pass it on."
Fugo watched him as he worked, silent. "I guess I may have misjudged you, Abbacchio."
Abbacchio snorted. "You're not going to offend me by saying that, kid. I know what I looked like when I first got here." He sighed as he turned back to the medical supplies and grabbed some gauze and peroxide. "You don't have to like me or anything. But for the record, I am sorry for all the shit you've been through."
Fugo looked away, swallowing hard. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry for all the shit you've been through too. But…thanks, Abbacchio. For stepping in tonight."
Abbacchio looked up at him and briefly caught Fugo's eyes, seeing how genuine they looked. He'd never seen that expression directed at him before from the kid. "No problem," he muttered.
Once he finished cleaning Fugo's hands and wrapping gauze around them, Abbacchio stood to look for the broom. "I'll go clean the glass up. You might want to put a new shirt on."
Fugo looked down to see the smears of blood and nodded. "Thanks."
Abbacchio shrugged and went to clean up the glass, hoping he got all the pieces before he came back to the kitchen to return to putting the kettle on.
"I do find that a cup of tea can really help calm the nerves," he told Fugo as the boy stood to one side rather awkwardly. "You want some?"
Fugo stared at him with some surprise and nodded.
Abbacchio took out two tea bags and mugs and made the tea before urging Fugo into the living room.
"Sorry to wake you," Fugo said.
Abbacchio shook his head. "Wasn't asleep. I don't sleep a lot, honestly."
Fugo took a deep breath, holding his tea carefully in his bandaged hands. "I don't either."
Abbacchio looked over at him. "You know…if I'm ever up and you're awake, I don't mind talking or, just sitting here or whatever. Especially if Bucciarati's not here. It's a lot easier to keep the bad thoughts away when there's someone else there."
Fugo looked up at him with some surprise. "I…thanks, Abbacchio," was all he said.
Abbacchio smiled very briefly and turned on the TV again.
He actually started to feel a little drowsy after a few minutes and it looked like Fugo was close behind, holding the empty mug in his hand loosely.
Abbacchio reached over to retrieve it and grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch, throwing it over the kid before he settled back and closed his eyes.
Bucciarati got back to the apartment in the early morning hours, closing the door quietly behind him as he got inside and slipped his shoes off. He was exhausted, but glad to be back. He had honestly been a little worried about leaving Fugo and Abbacchio alone. They weren't exactly hostile to each other, but he knew Fugo didn't hold any regard for their newest recruit either.
However, as he crossed through the living room on his way to his bed, he was surprised to see the pair on the couch, lit by the glow from the television. Abbacchio was passed out, head tipped back in a way that would probably give him a crick in his neck come morning, but he so rarely slept well, Bruno didn't have the heart to wake him.
More surprising though was Fugo resting against his shoulder, just as deeply asleep, blanket laid over him.
Bruno's heart lightened at the sight and he quietly crossed the room to readjust the blanket so it lay over both the sleeping figures. He frowned slightly when he saw Fugo's hands were bandaged, but he would worry about that in the morning. He'd been worried the boy would have a nightmare while he was gone, but it looked like if he had, Abbacchio had been there to take care of it and maybe they had finally broken through whatever barrier had been keeping them distant.
Bruno tucked his team members in with a final smile before heading off to bed himself. For the first time, he was truly certain that this team would work out.