Chapter Four

Abbacchio woke up later in the night, biting back a groan as he rolled over to find a position that didn't hurt. These thin cots did nothing for his back. He glanced over briefly to see if the kid was still asleep.

And saw that Giorno wasn't there.

Abbacchio furrowed his brow slightly, but figured the kid was probably just in the bathroom. He closed his eyes again, not sleeping but trying to. Time passed and he glanced back over, but Giorno still hadn't returned to his bed.

A voice—suspiciously sounding like Bucciarati's—in his head was telling him he needed to find the kid. There were too many people who wished him harm here, and he was obviously not very good at defending himself. Of course if he was pushed, Abbacchio hoped he would use his Stand, but then Caruso had implied punishment if that happened, and Abbacchio wasn't entirely thrilled with the idea of finding out what that meant.

Groaning inwardly, Abbacchio pushed himself up, glancing around to make sure the other fighters were all asleep, before he got out, first heading toward the bathroom. When he didn't find Giorno there or in the showers, he frowned, then thought that maybe, if he was hungry he had gone to the kitchen. Abbacchio was actually rather peckish himself since he had passed on dinner.

He made his way over there, but was stopped by a sound coming from the gym. Curious, he glanced through the entrance to the other room, seeing a figure standing in front of one of the punching bags. Soft pats sounded out as fists struck the bag in uncoordinated punches. So that's where the kid had gotten off to.

Abbacchio reached for a light switch, and flipped it on.

"What are you doing?"

Giorno froze and spun around, looking almost guilty. "I…couldn't sleep. So, I thought I should train a little," he admitted.

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow, arms folded over his chest. "Is that what you call this?"

Giorno looked a little lost. "Yes…?" he said almost questioningly.

Abbacchio reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Kid, you can't just punch a bag and expect to get better. Especially when you're doing it all wrong anyway."

Giorno's shoulders slumped and Abbacchio suddenly realized what he had to do here. He sighed in resignation as he stepped over.

"Let me teach you some stuff, okay?" he said.

Giorno's eyes widened. "You want to teach me to fight?"

Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "No, because I enjoy watching you get the shit beat out of you all the time," he snipped. "Yes, I'm going to teach you to fight."

There was something almost grateful in his eyes. "Oh. Okay. Thank you, Abbacchio."

"Don't thank me until you actually learn something," Abbacchio told him and went to grab a pair of wraps so he wouldn't ruin his hands further. He looked to see Giorno's and sighed. "Okay, first, let me show you how to wrap your hands. Get those off."

Giorno pulled the loose wraps off sheepishly. Abbacchio took one up and showed him the end. "Look, these have loops on them that go around your thumb to anchor it. Then you put it around your palms and knuckles then down to your wrists. You want it snug there to brace your wrists, especially skinny ones like yours."

Giorno flexed the hand Abbacchio had wrapped for him. "That does feel better." He did the other one himself, a little slow, but it did look better than his previous attempts. He watched as Abbacchio wrapped his own on, as if committing it to memory.

"Okay," Abbacchio said when he was done. "Show me a fighting stance."

Giorno bent his knees slightly and curled his fists in toward his chest. Abbacchio wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or take a picture to laugh at later. He instead settled for sighing heavily. "Okay…yeah, that's…all right." Abbacchio stepped over to Giorno and took hold on his shoulder, pressing his knuckles into his lower back to force the kid to straighten slightly.

"First of all, don't lean forward like that because you're just going to unbalance yourself. You want to keep your weight on the balls of your feet for easy movement but you anchor that by keeping your shoulders in line with your hips." Abbacchio maneuvered Giorno so that he was in the right stance and then stepped back, eyeing him critically. "Throw a punch now and tell me that doesn't feel better."

Giorno struck out with one fist and actually looked surprised. "It does, actually."

"Good, because we have a hell of a lot more to work on," Abbacchio said and squared up to Giorno, causing the boy to shift back slightly. Abbacchio huffed. "I'm not gonna hit you, kid. I'll warn you before I throw a punch, okay? I want you to hit me. Hard as you can. I want to see what we're dealing with."

Giorno pressed his lips together, pulled back, and swung. The impact hit Abbacchio in the shoulder, shifting him back slightly. It was…a lot less powerful than anything he had endured earlier that night, but it wasn't exactly as bad as he had expected either.

"Okay, so you do actually have a little power behind you," he muttered grudgingly. "But your technique is shit."

Giorno's shoulders slumped and Abbacchio cursed inwardly, rolling his eyes. "Look, it's nothing to be ashamed of; obviously no one taught you anything before. That's why I'm doing it now."

"It's not going to matter anyway," Giorno said. "I'm still too small to fight any of them."

"That isn't true," Abbacchio scoffed. "Anyone can fight outside their weight class with the proper training. Did you know that Bucciarati was an even smaller kid than you when he joined Passione? He still worked as a bruiser."

"He was allowed to use his Stand though," Giorno sighed.

Abbacchio shook his head. "No, he didn't have Sticky Fingers at first. He just adapted. Fact is, kid, life isn't a place for rules, and if you know you can win, you take the win, even if you have to fight dirty to get there. Lucky for you, Caruso doesn't seem to care about typical ring rules, so I'm not just going to teach you how to fight, I'm going to teach you how to win a fight because that's going to be a lot more useful in the long run."

Giorno's eyes were wide—at least the one that wasn't half swollen shut with bruising—and he nodded.

"All right," Abbacchio pointed to the punching bag. "First you've got to learn how to throw a punch." He demonstrated, falling into a fighting stance. "Don't just…flail around hoping you hit something. Keep your elbows in and swing from the shoulder—you'll have more power behind your fist then. In the ring, don't be afraid to use your feet either, the others don't seem to have a problem with it."

Giorno pressed one hand subconsciously to his stomach and nodded.

"Get into your stance," Abbacchio said. "Now try just small punches at first to get the feel of it."

Giorno did as he was told, throwing several punches, getting more confident as he went, until he was actually moving the bag a little each time.

"Not terrible," Abbacchio had to admit. "Give it a little more gusto."

Giorno pulled back and Abbacchio instantly stopped him.

"No, look..." he grabbed his elbow and pulled it down. "Keep your arm in line with your shoulder, move your upper body from the waist, but keep your feet planted, don't lean into a punch; you'll lose your balance."

Giorno pressed his lips together and took a small practice swing before he really hauled back and slammed his fist into the bag.

The thud was accompanied by the bag swinging on its chain.

"Okay, that wasn't too bad," Abbacchio told him. "Now do it several more times."

He watched, adjusting here and there, as Giorno got more comfortable throwing punches. He hated to admit it, but the kid actually wasn't terrible, and he was, thankfully, quite a quick learner.

"I still don't see how this is really going to help me, these probably aren't going to do anything to any of the other men," Giorno said as they took a break for water.

"No, you're not going to out-punch any of them," Abbacchio admitted. "Which is why you're not going to try to. You'll do better making sure every strike you get counts. Look, being small is actually to your advantage. Especially because you're also quick. You've seen how Bucciarati fights, he learned precision to make up for the fact that a lot of his enemies could out punch him. Punching isn't how you win a fight." He shrugged grudgingly. "I'll admit you have a mind for tactics, even if I don't always understand your reasoning. As long as you don't use your go-to of ripping a limb off, I'm sure you'll pick up on everything pretty quickly."

Giorno nodded slowly. "Yes, I can see that."

"Part of that is going to be picking out your opponent's weaknesses. Watch them, see if there's an injury you can exploit, or places they fail to cover properly. Of course, there's always certain places you can aim," Abbacchio added. "You can stomp on someone's instep, knees are always a weak point—of course the groin, don't be afraid to aim there. Instead of going for the stomach, aim higher, for the solar plexus if you can. It hurts to get punched in the stomach but it's not always debilitating; hit someone in the solar plexus, maybe with an elbow, and it will punch the air from their lungs. Throat obviously, but also the ears is a good place to strike and something people rarely think to cover." He tapped a finger into Giorno's lower back. "Kidneys are also a good place to strike if you can get behind them."

Giorno nodded, looking like he was putting all of this to memory and he probably was. That kid always seemed to fluctuate between being completely aloof and intensely focused.

"What I want you to remember specifically though, kid," Abbacchio added. "Is that you don't have to stand there and get hit, got it? You're quick, and you can dodge. Doing that will allow you to see how your opponent chooses to attack and when you get an opening, that's when you go in and deliver a blow that counts."

"I understand," Giorno said.

"Okay then," Abbacchio said and stood up, motioning Giorno over to the mat. "Let's spar so I can teach you some more moves you might find useful."

Over the next couple hours, Abbacchio helped Giorno get better at keeping his balance and thus making it easier for him to move around, dodging and learning how to strike more quickly.

It was kind of weird, but while he was teaching him, Abbacchio forgot about how annoying the kid usually was. Maybe it was because Giorno was actually listening to him and not being a smartass for once, but Abbacchio found he didn't actually mind being in the kid's company at the moment. He was actually incredibly attentive and a quick learner, for which Abbacchio was grateful, otherwise he might just have left the kid to fend for himself.

Giorno's hands were bruised by the time they finally stopped, but he looked less down-trodden than he had when Abbacchio had found him there.

"I don't know if I'll be able to actually win a fight, but I do feel more confident now about going back into the ring," Giorno told him and then met his eyes sincerely. "Thank you, Abbacchio."

Abbacchio grunted, folding his arms over his chest. "Maybe you'll at least last more than thirty seconds. We'll keep practicing though."

Giorno nodded and both of them turned warily as the door to the gym opened.

Drago strode in, catching sight of them. "Since you two are already up, you can make yourselves useful and get breakfast ready. You'll find all the stuff you need in the kitchen."

"Breakfast?" Abbacchio growled. "You—"

"Better make it quick; no one takes kindly to having their breakfast late," Drago told them before he headed toward the weights to begin his own workout.

Abbacchio shared a look with Giorno and sighed, ripping the wraps off of his hands. "All right," he muttered, turning to head to the kitchen with Giorno at his heels.

The place was just as dirty as expected and Abbacchio wrinkled his nose at the filth, even more glad he hadn't eaten the food the night before, even though he was practically starving now as a result.

He spotted the coffee maker and made a beeline for that, measuring out grounds and starting a pot.

Giorno stood off to one side, looking lost. Abbacchio huffed and turned to him. "Start looking around to see what they have."

Giorno nodded and began going through the walk-in and the cupboards.

"I don't really know what we're looking for," Giorno admitted as Abbacchio went to join him. "Aside from helping Bucciarati and Mista a couple times, I'm not really a very good cook."

Abbacchio reached over his head and grabbed a couple dozen eggs from a shelf in the walk-in. "Eggs and bacon it is, then."

Abbacchio drank his cup of coffee as he started frying batches of bacon, letting Giorno crack the eggs into a big bowl and whisk them up. When he was done with the bacon, Abbacchio poured the eggs into the greasy pan and stirred them around.

"The bacon grease makes them taste better. And then you have fewer pans to wash," he told Giorno.

When everything was done and set in pans ready for serving, Abbacchio threw some toast into the toaster and grabbed two plates, dishing out hearty portions onto them. He threw the toast on and handed one to Giorno.

"Cooking does come with its perks. Eat up, kid."

Giorno eagerly sat at the counter and practically inhaled the food. It certainly wasn't the best thing Abbacchio had ever tasted, but at least he had made it himself and it was hot and identifiable.

By the time they were done, the caffeine had set in and Abbacchio at least felt a little better about facing the day as he and Giorno carried the food out to the cafeteria and dished it up to the other fighters. There were a couple generic complaints probably just because they were new, but besides that it seemed to go well enough.

After that, Abbacchio spent the rest of the day training with Giorno until they were both sore and exhausted, neither of them having slept the night before. He wondered what Bruno and the others thought had happened to them. Surely they would follow the lead to Caruso's club at least and maybe, hopefully find the underground fight ring like Abbacchio and Giorno had. Of course, Caruso had probably worked a little harder to cover his tracks after they had showed up and if his Stand worked as a perimeter to trap anyone who came inside, then it would be pointless if any rescue party ended up just as stuck as they were.

If Abbacchio was positive Moody Blues would have been able to pass the barrier Caruso's Stand created, he would have rewound him back to the morning before so he could make it back to the house and lead the others here. But a quick peek while he was in the bathroom showed Abbacchio that the mark had also showed up on Moody, so it looked like that option was out as well.

It looked like they would have no other choice but to wait for rescue then. And in the meantime, Abbacchio would work out his frustration by punching as many people as he was allowed to.

At dinner Giorno stared contemplatively into his food and Abbacchio had a bad feeling he was plotting something. He put his fork down and leaned across the table.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly.

"We're not the only ones with a mark, I'm sure you've noticed," Giorno replied. "I was wondering if maybe we could find allies here."

Abbacchio snorted. "I doubt it. We can't risk them snitching to Caruso."

Giorno nodded. "Yes, but I'm not saying we outright ask them to rebel or anything. Just talk to them. Find out why they stay here."

"Then do what you want. Just don't get your ass kicked."

Giorno shook his head. "They won't talk to me. Every time I've tried they ignore me or physically shove me out of the way." He looked irked, and Abbacchio realized he wasn't used to this, but again, these weren't tourists who were easy targets for scams.

"So, what do you want from me?" Abbacchio grunted.

Giorno met his gaze. "You've already gained their respect. They'd be far more inclined to talk to you than me."

"I don't know. None of them seem too thrilled with me either."

"They at least won't jeer in your face. It might help us find important information, Abbacchio. After all, what better way to investigate than to be in the thick of it."

Abbacchio sighed and rolled his eyes slightly. "Fine. I'll admit you have a point. I'll see what I can do."

A small smile lifted one side of Giorno's mouth. "Thank you, Abbacchio."

Abbacchio ignored him and finished the rest of his unappetizing meal. They hadn't been called on to make dinner so there was no telling what it really was.

It seemed that, thankfully, there would not be another fight that night, so the fighters were left to their own devices. Most of that seemed to be watching sports on the old television set up in the cafeteria, but some of the men returned to the dormitory to read books and magazines.

There was a bookshelf set to one side with a meager selection of paperbacks, but one of the men Abbacchio had had an eye on was over there pursuing the shelves so he sighed with resignation and headed over.

"The least they could do is give us a better selection," Abbacchio grunted as he pulled one book off the shelf and set it back, wrinkling his nose.

The other man glanced over at him, somewhat warily, but said, "They do change them out every once in a while."

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow. He knew the man's ring name was Cobra, but hadn't heard anyone call him anything else. He was a good fighter from what Abbacchio had seen. His build just a bit more wiry than Abbacchio and a few inches taller, quick to the strike—probably where he had gotten the moniker.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, hoping that might open more conversation.

The man's face was unreadable as he turned back to the shelf, running a finger over the spines of the books. "About six months—little longer."

"You're not here willingly either, are you?" Abbacchio asked without looking at the other man.

Cobra froze slightly, but licked his lips and brought his hand back down to his side. "Not exactly, but…it's money. Money my wife and kids need. And I don't mind fighting. It's not the worst situation I could have gotten into."

Abbacchio pursed his lips but, the man had a point. There were a lot of worse things.

"How much money do you make per fight?"

"Enough," the man said. "You will too, once you start getting bets on you. Caruso likes to wait a few fights to make sure you're worth it, but from what I've seen you probably will be."

"I don't need the money unless I can buy my way out of here with it," Abbacchio snorted.

Cobra glanced over at him with a wry smile. "Good luck. Caruso keeps his fighters until they get used up. You may be able to convince him otherwise, but I doubt it."

Abbacchio caught Giorno entering the dorm out of the corner of his eye. The blond slowed as he passed, and Abbacchio glanced at him. They shared a look and Giorno continued on toward the showers.

"What's the deal with the kid anyway?" Cobra asked.

"What do you mean?" Abbacchio replied.

Cobra shrugged. "Just that he doesn't look like your younger brother or anything, but that's kind of how you treat him."

Abbacchio was surprised to think him and Giorno could ever be mistaken for family but that was the least of his problems at the moment. "No he's…my coworker. He's just a kid."

"No, he's Caruso's newest punching bag," Cobra said flatly. "He likes to throw one into the mix every once in a while. They don't last long and it's usually not pretty, so I hope you're not too sentimental."

Abbacchio felt a sudden surge of anger and dare he say protectiveness flash through his chest. Cobra watched and turned away with a knowing look, finally selecting a book off the shelf. "Just remember that no one else is going to look after him here. Not Drago, or anyone else."

He went to his cot and laid down to read. Abbacchio also snatched a book and went to sit on his own cot.

He hadn't really found out anything he hadn't already known. The only thing that had been confirmed was that they probably weren't going to be finding help among the other fighters. If they were getting paid, then they were probably at least content enough to stay even if they hadn't originally chosen their current position for themselves. Really, what had he been expecting? Even if they didn't want to be here they were just as stuck as Abbacchio and Giorno.

Giorno came back to his bunk from the showers, wringing his hair out as he glanced at Abbacchio expectantly. Abbacchio shook his head.

He wasn't going to tell the kid that he was the newest toy added to the group. After all, Abbacchio knew when push came to shove that Giorno could take care of himself.

He hoped, anyway.