This story is for Febuwhump day 19 "Delirium"

This is just based on a thought I had about Fugo and when he first got Purple Haze and the idea behind what would happen if someone pretty much rejected their stand. So enjoy some Fugo angst.

Breaking In

A JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Fanfic

"How is the new boy?"

Bucciarati glanced up at Polpo as he readied to leave. The question caught him slightly off guard considering he hadn't really considered Fugo the 'new boy' for a while, since he'd been living with him for almost four months now.

"He's fine," Bucciarati said, practiced. "He's been a great help to me already."

Polpo hummed thoughtfully. "I told you it was a good idea to start a team. And his Stand? Has it manifested yet?"

Bruno shifted slightly, refraining from chewing the inside of his mouth. "I'm afraid not, Signore."

Which was…not the truth, though as far as Fugo was concerned it may as well have been. Bruno didn't like stringing his Capo along like this, but the minute Polpo knew Fugo had manifested his Stand, he would want him to use it, possibly throwing him into a mission that would have him in over his head, forced to use his powers to survive. Polpo did that to a lot of the new recruits—Bruno included, back when he had first come to serve under to Capo. But Fugo's circumstance was…different. Bruno feared it would only be detrimental to everyone involved if Fugo used his Stand before he was ready, especially if he was forced into it.

"Have you told him?" Polpo demanded.

Bruno nodded. "Yes, it's just…taking a while."

"Well, if it doesn't appear, we'll have to arrange something," Polpo said. "I want a new team of Stand users, not paper pushers. If he can't cut it—"

"Fugo is still invaluable to me with or without a Stand," Bruno said before he realized he had spoken aloud. He froze and glanced up at the large Capo. "Signore," he added belatedly.

Polpo chuckled. "Have your strays then, Bucciarati, I did give you leave to form a team with whomever you chose. Just keep me up to date on the boy. Maybe…nudge him in the right direction." The implication was that if Bruno didn't, Polpo would make sure he did.

"I'll do what I can, signore," Bruno said, which wasn't necessarily a lie.

He left the prison, taking the long way back to the apartment, mulling things over.

To be honest, he was growing increasingly worried about Fugo. He'd passed the lighter test a month ago now, and hadn't even needed Bruno's coaxing to manifest his Stand the next day.

Which…did not turn out the way he had expected.

Bruno had certainly had his own learning curve with his Stand, but there had never been a moment that Sticky Fingers had not felt like a part of him. Like staring at an, albeit rather strange, reflection of himself. Any other Stand users he'd ever known had a similar feeling towards their Stands; it was impossible not to have a connection with them, as they were literally an embodiment of the soul. And that was the most intimate you could ever get.

But…perhaps if one was not comfortable with one's soul, with one's self, it might be possible to run into trouble with one's Stand?

Bruno had just never seen a user outright reject their Stand like Fugo had.

Of course…he could understand, given the circumstances.

Honestly, Bruno had hoped getting a Stand might help Fugo through his personal struggles, but it had only made everything worse—disastrously. Stands could act automatically without their user's knowledge before they got used to them, the subconscious testing the grounds of one's own power, maybe. Sticky Fingers had done it too, usually in the form of pocketing random items around the apartment, leaving Bruno to wonder where he'd left them before he found them on his person—or in his person, more appropriately.

But Fugo's Stand hadn't manifested with harmless little antics. It had instead killed several birds sitting outside the window, and tried to punch its way through a wall, leaving a haze of deadly fog that forced Bruno and Fugo to retreat instantly while Fugo desperately fought to dematerialize his Stand again. He hadn't let it out since, despite Bruno's gentle—albeit cautious—coaxing. He'd been met only with straight refusal.

"I am never letting that thing out again," Fugo had snapped at him.

The problem, of course, was that Stands were often linked with one's emotions, especially before you truly got to know them, and Fugo had violent emotions and a Stand that could be extremely dangerous to let out. Bruno had been working with him on his anger and Fugo had been getting a lot better, but this was a whole other level that he wasn't sure he was qualified for, or, if anyone was aside from Fugo himself.

Regardless, he hated to see how it was wearing on his young friend. Bruno knew the younger teen looked up to him. And that he also had an ingrained fear of disappointing people. Bruno was very much not disappointed with Fugo, but getting him to realize that was the problem. Bruno just wanted Fugo to be okay with himself, had thought they were getting somewhere with that, but gaining a Stand had seemed to set him back to square one. Past it, maybe.

He unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped inside, expecting to see Fugo sitting at the small desk in the corner of the living room where he usually conducted business, helping Bruno with paperwork. But he wasn't there.

"Fugo?" Bruno called.

Maybe he was hiding, afraid of a conversation about his Stand. Bruno had no intention of pushing him further, no matter what Polpo said. Not before he was ready. He could lie to his Capo for a little longer.

He stepped into the kitchen and came to a sudden halt, heart leaping into his throat.

"Fugo!"

The boy was collapsed on the floor, a broken glass shattered next to him. Bruno hurried forward, carefully sweeping glass aside with his foot as he crouched and took hold of Fugo's shoulder, easing him onto his back.

The boy's face was flushed a bright red, and Bruno could clearly feel the heat radiating off of him. Fugo's breathing was shallow, and his pulse beat rapidly, fluttering in his pale throat.

"Fugo!" Bruno called again, shaking him, but all he got was a soft moan and a cringe of pain as Fugo's face scrunched up in discomfort.

Bruno had no idea what had happened. Fugo had looked rundown the last couple days, and actually hadn't been up for once when Bruno left that morning, but he hadn't realized Fugo might be getting sick.

Pressing his lips together worriedly, Bruno slipped his arms under the boy's thin frame and picked him up, careful of the broken glass. He quickly had Sticky Fingers make a pocket in the floor, which he swept the shards in with a foot.

Fugo stirred in his arms as Bruno began walking to the boy's room. "No…no please…don'…don' take m'back."

Bruno frowned. "It's okay, Fugo," he said quietly. "I'm just taking you to your bed."

Fugo groaned, head lolling against Bruno's shoulder, but he didn't seem conscious at all. Bruno nudged the door to Fugo's room open with his knee and carried the boy inside, laying him carefully down on the bed. Fugo instantly curled onto his side, shivering. Bruno glanced at the back of his neck and his eyes widened, bending to look closer, pulling the back of Fugo's t-shirt down slightly.

What looked to be some sort of rash was appearing on his back. Now that he was looking for it, Bruno realized there was some other spots on Fugo's right arm and across his stomach too, the skin was visible from where the boy's t-shirt had bunched up.

Bruno stood back, perplexed. Fugo wasn't exactly sickly and there was something about this that didn't set right with him.

Still, he knew how to treat a fever at least, so he quickly went to gather everything he would need, piling it onto a tray before heading back to install himself by Fugo's bedside for the foreseeable future.

He took a wet cloth and placed it over Fugo's forehead, using another to cool his face and neck. Fugo shifted slightly, but didn't react other than to lean into the cool ministrations. Bruno coaxed him into some sort of half-conscious state to take some medicine in the hopes it would reduce the fever, but there was little more he could do. This had just happened so quickly. He knew Fugo was good at hiding things, especially his own discomfort, but surely Bruno would have noticed if he had been getting sick. He'd even checked on him this morning and thought he was just finally getting to sleep in, not having the heart to disturb him.

Bruno feared this might have something to do with his Stand and if that was the case, then he didn't really know what to do, or…if this could even be cured. Was this the result of Fugo rejecting his Stand? Was it causing his body to tear itself apart?

He was startled out of his thoughts when Fugo suddenly groaned and shifted, head tossing to one side, the cloth falling from his forehead. Bruno reached out to take it and re-cool it when Fugo's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, leaving Bruno staring down into violet eyes that were glassy with fever, and seeming to stare right through him.

"Don' touch me…" he whispered.

"Fugo, it's just me, It's Bruno," he said quietly, keeping still so as not to startle him.

"Don't…don't touch!" Fugo pleaded, eyes wet as he weakly shoved Bruno's hand away.

Bruno calmly stayed still, not touching the boy. "I won't," he promised.

Fugo choked on a sob. "Won't let me go," he murmured, eyes still staring at the ceiling, unseeing. "Won't let me go. Please, god, just leave me alone!" He flailed weakly against the sheets, leaving Bruno unsure of what to do. He didn't want to touch Fugo and make whatever he was going through worse, but he was afraid he might hurt himself if he kept this up. The fever must be making him delirious.

Thankfully, he seemed to settle down a couple minutes later, and Bruno sat, watching the quick rise and fall of Fugo's chest, before he carefully replaced the cloth on his head, gently soothing back the pale bangs sticking to a sweaty forehead.

Fugo whimpered and shivered slightly before settling again into a deeper sleep. Bruno pressed the back of his hand against the boy's cheek. He didn't have a thermometer or he would check his temperature. Either way, it seemed worryingly high.

He stayed by Fugo's bed that entire day, doing paperwork to occupy himself. For the most part, Fugo didn't wake up much, but he would have moments of agitation where he would mumble mostly incoherently until Bruno was able to soothe him back to sleep with quiet words of reassurance.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning when Bruno was dozing off, Fugo had a more violent episode, fighting against the blankets and twisting himself up, until he was practically wrapped up. Sounds of pain were escaping his throat and Bruno finally threw caution to the wind and stood to help detangle him.

"Fugo," he murmured as the boy's struggles only seemed to intensify, causing Bruno to have to pry the sheet from under him in order to detangle him.

"Don't!" Fugo finally said clearly, struggling harder. "D-Don't touch…"

"Shh," Bruno coaxed, growing more anxious as he finally managed to get Fugo free of the sheets. "Fugo, it's just Bruno, I promise you're safe…"

"No!" Fugo cried, shoving his hands away as his eyes flew open finally. "Get away! Don't touch me, you can't!"

Bruno held his hands up so Fugo would know he wasn't about to touch him. "Fugo, you have a fever, whatever you're seeing isn't really there."

Fugo groaned, head lolling from side to side, fingers digging into the sheets. The air around him rippled slightly and he let out a painful sounding whimper, jaw clenched in a grimace.

"Fugo," Bruno said softly, heart aching for the fact that there was nothing he seemed to be able to do. Fugo only seemed to be getting worse as the hours stretched on, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. Bruno's inherent need to comfort was welling up, and he couldn't help reaching out, if only to just take Fugo's hand, offer a small bit of comfort.

"No!" Fugo suddenly shouted, yanking his hand away and shifting to the other side of the bed.

Bruno snatched his hand back again, staring at the younger boy helplessly, not knowing what to do.

"Don't touch me!" Fugo cried, voice breaking off into a sob. "Please. I—I'm toxic, I'm poison."

"Fugo, you're not," Bruno said firmly.

Fugo took a shuddering breath. "I am! It won't leave me and now I'll just kill you too! It won't let go of me!"

Bruno exhaled slowly. "What won't let go of you?"

Fugo let out a desperate whimper, hands coming up to clutch at his shirt, fingernails digging into his chest. "That—that thing inside me!"

Bruno quickly reached out to take his wrists, risking Fugo pushing him away again to stop him from clawing his skin. "Fugo. Pannacotta, listen to me. You're Stand is you; it's a part of you, you can control it."

He shook his head from side to side. "I can't, it's just sitting there! It's just staring at me!"

Bruno glanced over to the corner of the room and saw a slight ripple in the air. He furrowed his brow, hoping this might be a good idea and not a disastrous one.

"Pannacotta, listen to me," he said gently. "I know you don't want to, but try manifesting your Stand. On your own terms."

"No," Fugo whimpered. "I don't want to look at it. I hate it!"

"You didn't want to look in a mirror for a long time either, remember?" Bruno said gently. "But it wasn't so bad when you did, right?"

"It's already doing this to me, what if it just decides I'm not worth being attached to?" Fugo asked.

Bruno's heart broke at that question. "Honestly, Fugo, I don't have the answer, but I do think it's because you're rejecting it that this is happening. Like I said, Stands are part of us. You can't very easily cut out an organ and expect to have no repercussions."

Fugo blinked tears from his eyes and Bruno finally laid Fugo's hands gently back against his chest. "I don't want to. What if I hurt you?" he whimpered.

"You won't," Bruno said softly. "You don't even have to keep it out for long. Just try manifesting it. I trust you."

"I don't," Fugo croaked.

Bruno straightened up. "I'll stand over by the opposite wall then, okay?"

Fugo let out a shuddering breath, but finally nodded. "I'll—I'll try," he whispered.

"Okay," Bruno said.

He moved to the far wall. It wasn't far enough in this small apartment, but he could easily slip into the void with Sticky Fingers if anything got out of hand. But he was sure it wouldn't.

Fugo shuddered on the bed, smearing tears across his cheeks with the back of his hand as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's okay, Fugo," Bruno said coaxingly.

A few long seconds later, the rippling in the corner returned and finally Fugo's Stand appeared, huddled in the corner, long legs pulled up to its chest, shuddering, saliva dripping from its muzzled mouth.

"See? Look at it!" Fugo scoffed. "It's…disgusting! But it's my Stand. So, I suppose it makes sense."

A mournful growling wail came from the Stand and it pressed itself further into the corner.

"Fugo, you know that's not true," Bruno chided.

"Come on, Bucciarati! I've told you more about myself than most people. You should know I'm no better than this disgusting thing! I can't even use it right. I'm—I'm worthless, and toxic, and I only poison anyone stupid enough to be around me, I always have."

The Stand wailed again and Fugo whipped around toward it. "Shut up!" he snarled before he started sobbing again.

Bruno had had enough and crossed back to the bed, kneeling on the mattress and pulling Fugo's shuddering body into his arms, feeling the heat waft off of him. Normally, he wouldn't just touch Fugo like this when he was in this sort of state, but right now, he had a feeling that it was the right thing to do.

"You are not worthless and toxic, I promise," Bruno told him firmly. "No matter what, Pannacotta, I could never call you that. You never have to prove anything to me. You need to prove it to yourself."

Fugo let out a frustrated sob. "How?!"

Bruno turned him toward his Stand who looked, for lack of a better word, almost forlorn. "Start here. Face your inner self. Stands tend to attach themselves to you better once you name them."

"The last thing I want to do is name it like some flea-bitten stray animal!" Fugo snarled.

"Fugo," Bruno coaxed, rubbing his arm gently. "I'm not going to let it kill you, and I'm not going to let you kill anyone with it. As far as anyone's concerned, you have not manifested your Stand yet at all, and I will continue to make sure that's all people know until you're ready. You can take as long as you need, understand?"

Fugo shuddered, but pushed himself up straighter as Bruno nudged him, helping him slip off the bed.

Fugo approached his Stand slowly before sinking to his knees, seeming too weak to stay upright at the moment. The Stand whimpered and let out a small sound, looking up to meet Fugo's eyes.

Bruno watched as Fugo swiftly looked away, shuddering, fists clenching on the floor, before he finally looked back. The Stand gave him a questioning look.

Fugo finally raised a hand and reached out, fingers shaking. His Stand continued to stare at him questioningly before also raising a hand.

Fugo initially flinched back when the Stand's fingers touched his, but he set his jaw and reached out again, this time flattening his palm against the Stand's like a reflection in a mirror.

The Stand let out a soft sound and stopped drooling for a second as it stared directly at Fugo and the teen held its gaze firmly.

Finally, he took a deep breath. "Purple Haze," he said. "That's what it's called."

Bruno smiled proudly, and the Stand made a pleased sounding noise before it dissipated again in a puff of purple smoke.

Fugo sagged there, hands dangling at his sides before he suddenly slumped to the ground.

"Fugo," Bruno called worriedly as he pushed himself off the bed and knelt beside the boy.

But he just seemed to have exhausted himself, his breathing more even, and Bruno gently picked him up and deposited him back onto the bed, continuing his vigil through the rest of the night.

Fugo slept peacefully for hours, and his fever broke by midmorning, and by midafternoon, the rash was essentially non-existent. He woke in time for Bruno to bring him some soup he'd made for dinner.

Fugo sat and ate it silently for a long time.

"I don't even know what happened," he said, voice hoarse. "Was…all that a dream?"

"You had quite a high fever so I'm sure it feels like it," Bruno said kindly as he leaned over in the chair and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed. "But you connected with your Stand for the first time. You called it Purple Haze."

Fugo paused, blinking slightly, and then nodded. "I'm sorry for the way I acted," he said quietly.

Bruno frowned. "Why?"

Fugo looked away. "Because I even screw this up. Because I can't stop being terrified of—of myself."

"Fugo," Bruno said sincerely. "When you first met me, you sat there and told me everything frankly. You didn't hide anything, even though I know how hard it must have been for you to talk about some of that. That takes an unimaginable amount of bravery."

"I never said I wasn't stupidly brave," Fugo grunted. "I've only ever been scared of myself, and…" he blushed slightly. "Now…scared of…disappointing you. Or worse, bringing ridicule upon you from the others."

"Fugo, I can easily handle whatever anyone else wants to say about me," Bruno assured him. "And I'll never be disappointed in you as long as you're trying. That was an impressive step you made last night, and I believe in you that you will be a very powerful Stand user one day when you learn how to put Purple Haze to good use."

Fugo set the bowl of soup aside and hugged himself. "But what if I make a mistake while practicing? I still don't know the extent of what it can do…"

"We'll take the proper precautions," Bruno promised. "I promise I won't make you do public missions until you're ready. Okay?"

Fugo looked away. "I know Polpo is growing impatient."

"He can go to hell," Bruno suddenly snapped before he could stop himself and Fugo stared wide-eyed at him. He smiled wryly and shook his head. "Seriously though, he gave me leave to form my own team, you answer to me. And I say you can have all the time you need."

Fugo took a shuddering sigh and his shoulders seemed to relax a little. "Bucciarati, I—thank you. Really."

"It's nothing," Bruno assured him. "I'm just glad to have you with me, Fugo." He stood and picked up the empty bowl. "I think you should get an early night. And if you feel up to it tomorrow, I have some account books I need balanced."

Fugo smiled. "I'd be glad to."

Bruno gave him a fond smile before he left the room, leaving the door open a crack, just in case.

He had every belief that once Fugo got his Stand broken in that he would be a great Stand user. Until then, he promised he would be there to coach him where he could.